m 


iBBagji 


26  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


weathercocks,  each  pointed  a  different  way  ;  and  there  was  a  per 
petual  contradiction  between  them  on  all  points  of  windy  doc 
trine  ;  emblematic,  alas !  of  the  Christian  propensity  to  schism 
and  controversy. 

In  the  burying-ground  adjacent  to  the  church,  reposed  the 
earliest  fathers  of  a  wide  rural  neighborhood.  Here  families 
were  garnered  together,  side  by  side,  in  long  platoons,  in  this  last 
gathering  place  of  kindred.  With  pious  hand  would  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker  turn  down  the  weeds  and  brambles  which  had 
overgrown  the  tombstones,  to  decipher  inscriptions  in  Dutch  and 
English,  of  the  names  and  virtues  of  succeeding  generations  of 
Van  Tassels,  Van  Warts,  and  other  historical  worthies,  with 
their  portraitures  faithfully  carved,  all  bearing  the  family  likeness 
to  cherubs. 

The  congregation  in  those  days  was  of  a  truly  rural  character. 
City  fashions  had  not  as  yet  stole  up  to  Sleepy  Hollow.  Dutch 
sun-bonnets  and  honest  homespun  still  prevailed.  Every  thing 
was  in  primitive  style,  even  to  the  bucket  of  water  and  tin  cup 
near  the  door  in  summer,  to  assuage  the  thirst  caused  by  the  heat 
of  the  weather  or  the  drouth  of  the  sermon. 

The  pulpit,  with  its  wide-spreading  sounding  board,  and  the 
communion  table,  curiously  carved,  had  each  come  from  Holland 
in  the  olden  time,  before  the  arts  had  sufficiently  advanced  in  the 
colony  for  such  achievements.  Around  these  on  Sundays  would 
be  gathered  the  elders  of  the  church,  gray-headed  men  who  led 
the  psalmody,  and  in  whom  it  would  be  difficult  to  recognize  the 
hard-riding  lads  of  yore,  who  scoured  the  debatable  land  in  the 
time  of  the  revolution. 

The  drowsy  influence  of  Sleepy  Hollow  was   apt  to  breathe 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  27 


into  this  sacred  edifice ;  and  now  and  then  an  elder  might  be 
seen  with  his  handkerchief  over  his  face  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and 
apparently  listening  to  the  dominie ;  but  really  sunk  into  a  sum 
mer  slumber,  lulled  by  the  sultry  notes  of  the  locust  from  the 
neighboring  trees. 

And  now  a  word  or  two  about  Sleepy  Hollow,  which  many 
have  rashly  deemed  a  fanciful  creation,  like  the  Lubberland  of 
mariners.  It  was  probably  the  mystic  and  dreamy  sound  of  the 
name  which  first  tempted  the  historian  of  the  Manhattoes  into  its 
spellbound  mazes.  As  he  entered,  all  nature  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  awake  from  its  slumbers  and  break  forth  in  gratula- 
tions.  The  quail  whistled  a  welcome  from  the  corn  field ;  the 
loquacious  cat-bird  flew  from  bush  to  bush  with  restless  wing  pro 
claiming  his  approach,  or  perked  inquisitively  into  lus  face,  as  if 
to  get  a  knowledge  of  his  physiognomy.  The  woodpecker  tapped 
a  tattoo  on  the  hollow  apple  tree,  and  then  peered  round  the 
trunk,  as  if  asking  how  he  relished  the  salutation ;  while  the 
squirrel  scampered  along  the  fence,  whisking  his  tail  over  his  head 
by  way  of  a  huzza. 

Here  reigned  the  golden  mean  extolled  by  poets,  in  which  no 
gold  was  to  be  found  and  very  little  silver.  The  inhabitants  of 
the  Hollow  were  of  the  primitive  stock,  and  had  intermarried  and 
bred  in  and  in,  from  the  earliest  time  of  the  province,  never 
swarming  far  from  the  parent  hive,  but  dividing  and  subdividing 
their  paternal  acres  as  they  swarmed. 

Here  were  small  farms,  each  having  its  little  portion  of  mea 
dow  and  corn  field ;  its  orchard  of  gnarled  and  sprawling  apple 
trees ;  its  garden  in  which  the  rose,  the  marigold  and  hollyhock, 
grew  sociably  with  the  cabbage,  the  pea,  and  the  pumpkin  :  each 


THE   CONTENTED  MAN. 


The  Cow  Boys.— rage  17. 

G.    P.    PUTNAM    &     CO. 


WOLFERT'S  BOOST 


AND 


OTHER  PAPERS,  NOW  FIRST  COLLECTED, 


BY 

WASHINGTON    IKYING. 


NEW  YORK: 

P.  PUTNAM  &  CO.,  10   PARK  PLAGE. 
1855. 


ENTERED  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 
WASHINGTON  IRVING, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Southern  District 
of  New  York. 


JOHN    P.  TROW, 
PRINTER    AND    STEREOTYPER, 

46  ANN  STHJBBT. 


CONTENTS. 


Pago 

WOLFERT'S  ROOST,                .            .            .            .  «    '    ;-  .-•  ••• :            9 

THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING,                                        «  .            •            .         80 

THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE,         ....<•  88 

MOUNTJOT,         .            .            .            .            .  «            t            .        49 

THE  BERMUDAS,       .    .        .   %         .            . -\          »  •            ,             100 

The  Three  Kings  of  Bermuda, .  i         '  >   :        .       109 

THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL,        .            .            .            .  .            .            115 

THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA,             .             .            .  .            .            .130 

The  Grand  Prior  of  Minorca,          .            .  .            .            182 

A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY,  .            .  .            .            .151 

The  Great  Mississippi  Bubble,         .            .  ,:j        . .            154 

SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825. — The  Parisian  Hotel,  .            .            ,192 

My  French  Neighbor,      .jJL—  »                          195 

The  Englishman  at  Paris,      -..          '.  .         v«    -        .       198 

English  and  French  Character,       .            .  ».            .            201 

The  Tuileries  and  Windsor  Castle,        .  ;  »            .            .       205 

The  Field  of  Waterloo,        .            .        ~  '^  '-•;         .            209 

Paris  at  the  Restoration,           .  '          .  .            .            .212 

A  CONTENTED  MAN,             .  •          »            .             .  .            .             219 

BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE,        .            .  .    '        r                  226 


8  CONTENTS. 


Puge 

GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND,  .  .  .  J  .  .  234 

THE  EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD,  .  .  .  249 

THE  SEMINOLES,  .  ...  .  .  .  .  289 

Origin  of  the  White,  the  Red,  and  the  Black  Men,     .            .  294 

The  Conspiracy  of  Neamathla,  '  /  .  .  297 

THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN,  .....  305 

DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH,  .  .  .  .  322 

LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT,  .....  334 

THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND,  ......  341 

The  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities,  ....  344 

RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA,  .  .  .  .  .  366 

The  Abencerrage,          ....            •  370 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 

CHRONICLE     I. 

ABOUT  five-and- twenty  miles  from  the  ancient  and  renowned  city 
of  Manhattan,  formerly  called  New-Amsterdam,  and  vulgarly 
called  New- York,  on  the  eastern  bank  of  that  expansion  of  the 
Hudson,  known  among  Dutch  mariners  of  yore,  as  the  Tappan 
Zee,  being  in  fact  the  great  Mediterranean  Sea  of  the  New- 
Netherlands,  stands  a  little  old-fashioned  stone  mansion,  all  made 
up  of  gable-ends,  and  as  full  of  angles  and  corners  as  an  old 
cocked  hat.  It  is  said,  in  fact,  to  have  been  modelled  after  the 
cocked  hat  of  Peter  the  Headstrong,  as  the  Escurial  was  modelled 
after  the  gridiron  of  the  blessed  St.  Lawrence.  Though  but  of 
small  dimensions,  yet,  like  many  small  people,  it  is  of  mighty 
spirit,  and  values  itself  greatly  on  its  antiquity,  being  one  of  the 
oldest  edifices,  for  its  size,  in  the  whole  country.  It  claims  to  be 
an  ancient  seat  of  empire,  I  may  rather,  say  an  empire  in  itself, 
and  like  all  empires,  great  and  small,  has  had  its  grand  historical 
epochs.  In  speaking  of  this  doughty  and  valorous  little  pile,  I 
shall  call  it  by  its  usual  appellation  of  "  The  Roost ;  "  though 
that  is  a  name  given  to  it  in  modern  days,  since  it  became  the 
abode  of  the  white  man. 
1* 


10  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


Its  origin,  in  truth,  dates  far  back  in  that  remote  region  com 
monly  called  the  fabulous  age,  in  which  vulgar  fact  becomes  mys 
tified,  and  tinted  up  with  delectable  fiction.  The  eastern  shore 
of  the  Tappan  Sea  was  inhabited  in  those  days  by  an  unsophisti 
cated  race,  existing  in  all  the  simplicity  of  nature ;  that  is  to  say, 
they  lived  by  hunting  and  fishing,  and  recreated  themselves  occa 
sionally  with  a  little  tomahawking  and  scalping.  Each  stream 
that  flows  down  from  the  hills  into  the  Hudson,  had  its  petty 
sachem,  who  ruled  over  a  hand's  breadth  of  forest  on  either  side, 
and  had  his  seat  of  government  at  its  mouth.  The  chieftain  who 
ruled  at  the  Roost,  was  not  merely  a  great  warrior,  but  a  medi 
cine-man,  or  prophet,  or  conjurer,  for  they  all  mean  the  same 
thing  in  Indian  parlance.  Of  his  fighting  propensities,  evidences 
still  remain,  in  various  arrow-heads  of  flint,  and  stone  battle-axes, 
occasionally  digged  up  about  the  Roost :  of  his  wizard  powers, 
we  have  a  token  in  a  spring  which  wells  up  at  the  foot  of  the  bank, 
on  the  very  margin  of  the  river,  which,  it  is  said,  was  gifted  by 
him  with  rejuvenating  powers,  something  like  the  renowned  Foun 
tain  of  Youth  in  the  Floridas,  so  anxiously  but  vainly  sought  after 
by  the  veteran  Ponce  de  Leon.  This  story,  -however,  is  stoutly 
contradicted  by  an  old  Dutch  matter-of-fact  tradition,  which  de 
clares  that  the  spring  in  question  was  smuggled  over  from  Holland 
in  a  churn,  by  Femmetie  Van  Blarcom,  wife  of  Goosen  G-arret 
Van  Blarcom,  one  of  the  first  settlers,  and  that  she  took  it  up  by 
night,  unknown  to  her  husband,  from  beside  their  farm-house  near 
Rotterdam ;  being  sure  she  should  find  no  water  equal  to  it  in 
the  new  country — and  she  was  right. 

The  wizard  sachem  had  a  great  passion  for  discussing  territo 
rial  questions,  and  settling  boundary  lines,  in  other  words,  he  had 


WOLFERTS  ROOST. 

the  spirit  of  annexation ;  this  kept  him  in  continual  feud  with  the 
neighboring  sachems,  each  of  whom  stood  up  stoutly  for  his  hand' 
breadth  of  territory;  so  that  there  is  not  a  petty  stream  nor 
rugged  hill  in  the  neighborhood,  that  has  not  been  the  subject  of 
long  talks  and  hard  battles.  The  sachem,  however,  as  has  been 
observed,  was  a  medicine-man,  as  well  as  warrior,  and  vindicated 
his  claims  by  arts  as  well  as  arms ;  so  that,  by  dint  of  a  little 
hard  fighting  here,  and  hocus  pocus  (or  diplomacy)  there,  he  man 
aged  to  extend  his  boundary  line  from  field  to  field  and  stream  to 
stream,  until  it  brought  him  into  collision  with  the  powerful 
sachem  of  Sing  Sing.*  Many  were  the  sharp  conflicts  between 
these  rival  chieftains  for  the  sovereignty  of  a  winding  valley,  a 
favorite  hunting  ground  watered  by  a  beautiful  stream  called  the 
Pocantico.  Many  were  the  ambuscades,  surprisals,  and  deadly 
onslaughts  that  took  place  among  its  fastnesses,  of  which  it  grieves 
me  much  that  I  cannot  pursue  the  details,  for  the  gratification  of 
those  gentle  but  bloody-minded  readers,  of  both  sexes,  who 
delight  in  the  romance  of  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife.  Suf 
fice  it  to  say,  that  the  wizard  chieftain  was  at  length  victorious, 
though  his  victory  is  attributed,  in  Indian  tradition,  to  a  great 
medicine,  or  charm,  by  which  he  laid  the  sachem  of  Sing-Sing 
and  his  warriors  asleep  among  the  rocks  and  recesses  of  the  val 
ley,  where  they  remain  asleep  to  the  present  day,  with  their  bows 
and  war-clubs  beside  them.  This  was  the  origin  of  that  potent 

*  A  corruption  of  the  Old  Indian  name,  0-sin-sing.  Some  have  rendered 
it,  O-sin-song,  or  0-sing-song;  in  token  of  its  being  a  great  market  town; 
where  any  thing  may  be  had  for  a  mere  song.  Its  present  melodious  alter 
ation  to  Sing  Sing  is  said  to  have  been  made  in  compliment  to  a  Yankee  sing 
ing-master,  who  taught  the  inhabitants  the  art  of  singing  through  the  nose. 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


12  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


and  drowsy  spell,  which  still  prevails  over  the  valley  of  the  Pocan- 
tico,  and  which  has  gained  it  the  well-merited  appellation  of  Sleepy 
Hollow.  Often,  in  secluded  and  quiet  parts  of  that  valley,  where 
the  stream  is  overhung  by  dark  woods  and  rocks,  the  ploughman, 
on  some  calm  and  sunny  day,  as  he  shouts  to  his  oxen,  is  sur 
prised  at  hearing  faint  shouts  from  the  hill-sides  in  reply ;  being 
it  is  said,  the  spell-bound  warriors,  who  half  start  from  theii 
rocky  couches  and  grasp  their  weapons,  but  sink  to  sleep  again. 

The  conquest  of  the  Pocantico  was  the  last  triumph  of  the 
wizard  sachem.  Notwithstanding  all  his  medicines  and  charms, 
he  fell  in  battle,  in  attempting  to  extend  his  boundary  line  to  the 
east,  so  as  to  take  in  the  little  wild  valley  of  the  Sprain,  and  his 
grave  is  still  shown,  near  the  banks  of  that  pastoral  stream.  He 
left,  however,  a  great  empire  to  his  successors,  extending  along 
the  Tappan  Sea,  from  Yonkers  quite  to  Sleepy  Hollow,  and  known 
in  old  records  and  maps  by  the  Indian  name  of  Wicquaes-Keck. 

The  wizard  Sachem  was  succeeded  by  a  line  of  chiefs  of  whom 
nothing  remarkable  remains  on  record.  One  of  them  was  the 
very  individual  on  whom  master  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  mate 
Robert  Juet  made  that  sage  experiment  gravely  recorded  by  the 
latter,  in  the  narrative  of  the  discovery. 

"  Our  master  and  his  mate  determined  to  try  some  of  the 
cheefe  men  of  the  country,  whether  they  had  any  treacherie  in 
them.  So  they  took  them  down  into  the  cabin,  and  gave  them 
so  much  wine  and  aqua  vitae,  that  they  were  all  very  merrie ;  one 
of  them  had  his  wife  with  him,  which  sate  so  modestly  as  any  of 
our  countrywomen  would  do  in  a  strange  place.  In  the  end,  one 
of  them  was  drunke ;  and  that  was  strange  to  them,  for  they 
could  not  tell  how  to  take  it."* 

*  Se«  Ji  et's  Journal,  Purclias'  Pilgrims. 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  13 


How  far  master  Hendrick  Hudson  and  his  worthy  mate  car 
ried  their  experiment  with  the  sachem's  wife,  is  not  recorded,  nei 
ther  does  the  curious  Robert  Juet  make  any  mention  of  the  after 
consequences  of  this  grand  moral  test ;  tradition,  however,  affirms 
that  the  sachem,  on  landing,  gave  his  modest  spouse  a  hearty  rib- 
roasting,  according  to  the  connubial  discipline  of  the  aboriginals ; 
it  farther  affirms,  that  he  remained  a  hard  drinker  to  the  day  of 
his  death,  trading  away  all  his  lands,  acre  by  acre,  for  aqua  vitae ; 
by  which  means  the  Roost  and  all  its  domains,  from  Yonkers  to 
Sleepy  Hollow,  came,  in  the  regular  course  of  trade,  and  by  right 
of  purchase,  into  the  possession  of  the  Dutchmen. 

The  worthy  government  of  the  New  Netherlands  was  not  suf 
fered  to  enjoy  this  grand  acquisition  unmolested.  In  the  year 
1654,  the  losel  Yankees  of  Connecticut,  those  swapping,  bargain 
ing,  squatting  enemies  of  the  Manhattoes,  made  a  daring  inroad 
into  this  neighborhood,  and  founded  a  colony  called  Westchester, 
or,  as  the  ancient  Dutch  records  term  it,  Vest  Dorp,  in  the  right 
of  one  Thomas  Pell,  "who  pretended  to  have  purchased  the  whole 
surrounding  country  of  the  Indians ;  and  stood  ready  to  argue 
their  claims  before  any  tribunal  of  Christendom. 

This  happened  during  the  chivalrous  reign  of  Peter  Stuyve- 
sant,  and  roused  the  ire  of  that  gunpowder  old  hero.  Without 
waiting  to  discuss  claims  and  titles,  he  pounced  at  once  upon  the 
nest  of  nefarious  squatters,  carried  off  twenty-five  of  them  in 
chains  to  the  Manhattoes,  nor  did  he  stay  his  hand,  nor  give  rest 
to  his  wooden  leg,  until  he  had  driven  the  rest  of  the  Yankees 
back  into  Connecticut,  or  obliged  them  to  acknowledge  allegiance 
to  their  High  Mightinesses.  In  revenge,  however,  they  intro 
duced  the  plague  of  witchcraft  into  the  province.  This  doleful 


14  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


malady  broke  out  at  Vest  Dorp,  and  would  have  spread  through 
out  the  country  had  not  the  Dutch  farmers  nailed  horse-shoes  to 
the  doors  of  their  houses  and  barns,  sure  protections  against 
witchcraft,  many  of  which  remain  to  the  present  day. 

The  seat  of  empire  of  the  wizard  sachem  now  came  into  the 
possession  of  Wolfert  Acker,  one  of  the  privy  counsellors  of 
Peter  Stuyvesant.  He  was  a  worthy,  but  ill-starred  man,  whose 
aim  through  life  had  been  to  live  in  peace  and  quiet.  For  this  he 
had  emigrated  from  Holland,  driven  abroad  by  family  feuds  and 
wrangling  neighbors.  He  had  warred  for  quiet  through  the  fidg- 
etting  reign  of  William  the  Testy,  and  the  fighting  reign  of  Peter 
the  Headstrong,  sharing  in  every  brawl  and  rib-roasting,  in  his 
eagerness  to  keep  the  peace  and  promote  public  tranquillity.  It 
was  his  doom,  in  fact,  to  meet  a  head  wind  at  every  turn,  and  be 
kept  in  a  constant  fume  and  fret  by  the  perverseness  of  mankind. 
Had  he  served  on  a  modern  jury  he  would  have  been  sure  to  have 
eleven  unreasonable  men  opposed  to  him. 

At  the  time  when  the  province  of  the  New  Netherlands  was 
wrested  from  the  domination  of  their  High  Mightinesses  by  the 
combined  forces  of  Old  and  New  England,  Wolfert  retired  in 
high  dudgeon  to  this  fastness  in  the  wilderness,  with  the  bitter  de 
termination  to  bury  himself  from  the  world,  and  live  here  for  the 
rest  of  his  days  in  peace  and  quiet.  In  token  of  that  fixed  pur 
pose  he  inscribed  over  his  door  (his  teeth  clenched  at  the  time) 
his  favorite  Dutch  motto,  "  Lust  in  Rust,"  (pleasure  in  quiet).  The 
mansion  was  thence  called  Wolfert's  Rust — (Wolfert's  Rest),  but 
by  the  uneducated,  who  did  not  understand  Dutch,  Wolfert's 
Roost ;  probably  from  its  quaint  cock-loft  look,  and  from  its  hav 
ing  a  weather-cock  perched  on  every  gable. 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  15 


Wolfert's  luck  followed  him  into  retirement.  He  had  shut 
himself  up  from  the  world,  but  he  had  brought  with  him  a  wife, 
and  it  soon  passed  into  a  proverb  throughout  the  neighborhood 
that  the  cock  of  the  Roost  was  the  most  henpecked  bird  in  the 
country.  His  housa  too  was  reputed  to  be  harassed  by  Yankee 
witchcraft.  When  the  weather  was  quiet  every  where  else,  the 
wind,  it  was  said,  would  howl  and  whistle  about  the  gables ;  witches 
and  warlocks  would  whirl  about  upon  the  weather-cocks,  and 
scream  down  the  chimneys ;  nay  it  was  even  hinted  that  Wol 
fert's  wife  was  in  league  with  the  enemy,  and  used  to  ride  on  a 
broomstick  to  a  witches'  sabbath  in  Sleepy  Hollow.  This,  how 
ever,  was  all  mere  scandal,  founded  perhaps  on  her  occasionally 
nourishing  a  broomstick  in  the  course  of  a  curtain  lecture,  or  rais 
ing  a  storm  within  doors,  as  termagant  wives  are  apt  to  do, 
and  against  which  sorcery  horse  shoes  are  of  no  avail. 

Wolfert  Acker  died  and  was  buried,  but  found  no  quiet  even 
in  the  grave :  for  if  popular  gossip  be  true,  his  ghost  has  occa 
sionally  been  seen  walking  by  moonlight  among  the  old  gray  moss- 
grown  trees  of  his  apple  orchard. 


CHRO  NI  CLE      II. 

The  next  period  at  which  we  find  this  venerable  and  eventful 
pile  rising  into  importance,  was  during  the  dark  and  troublous 
time  of  the  revolutionary  war.  It  was  the  keep  or  stronghold  of 
Jacob  Van  Tassel,  a  valiant  Dutchman  of  the  old  stock  of  Van 
Tassels,  who  abound  in  Westchester  County.  The  name,  as 
originally  written,  was  Yan  Texel,  being  derived  from  the  Texel 
in  Holland,  which  gave  birth  to  that  heroic  line. 


16  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


The  Roost  stood  in  the  very  heart  of  what  at  that  time  was 
called  the  debatable  ground,  lying  between  the  British  and  Amer 
ican  lines.  The  British  held  possession  of  the  city  and  island  of 
New  York ;  while  the  Americans  drew  up  towards  the  Highlands, 
holding  their  head-quarters  at  Peekskill.  The  intervening  coun 
try  from  Croton  River  to  Spiting  Devil  Creek  was  the  debatable 
ground  in  question,  liable  to  be  harried  by  friend  and  foe,  like 
the  Scottish  borders  of  yore. 

It  is  a  rugged  region ;  full  of  fastnesses.  A  line  of  rocky 
hills  extends  through  it  like  a  backbone,  sending  out  ribs  on 
either  side ;  but  these  rude  hills  are  for  the  most  part  richly 
wooded,  and  inclose  little  fresh  pastoral  valleys  watered  by  the 
Neperan,  the  Pocantico,*  and  other  beautiful  streams,  along  which 
the  Indians  built  their  wigwams  in  the  olden  time. 

In  the  fastnesses  of  these  hills,  and  along  these  valleys  ex 
isted,  in  the  time  of  which  I  am  treating,  and  indeed  exist  to  the 
present  day,  a  race  of  hard-headed,  hard-handed,  stout-hearted  yeo 
men,  descendants  of  the  primitive  Nederlanders.  Men  obstinately 
attached  to  the  soil,  and  neither  to  be  fought  nor  bought  out  of 

*  The  Neperan,  vulgarly  called  the  Saw-Mill  River,  winds  for  many 
miles  through  a  lovely  valley,  shrouded  by  groves,  and  dotted  by  Dutch 
farm-houses,  and  empties  itsell  into  the  Hudson,  at  the  ancient  Dorp 
of  Yonkers.  The  Pocantico,  rising  among  woody  hills,,  winds  in  many  a 
wizard  maze,  through  the  sequestered  haunts  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  "We  owe 
it  to  the  indefatigable  researches  of  Mr.  KNICKERBOCKER,  that  those  beauti 
ful  streams  are  rescued  from  modern  common-place,  and  reinvested  with 
their  ancient  Indian  names.  The  correctness  of  the  venerable  historian 
may  be  ascertained  by  reference  to  the  records  of  the  original  Indian  grants 
to  the  Herr  Frederick  Philipsen,  preserved  in  the  county  clerk's  office,  at 
White  Plains. 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  17 


their  paternal  acres.  Most  of  them  were  strong  Whigs  through 
out  the  war ;  some,  however,  were  Tories,  or  adherents  to  the  old 
kingly  rule ;  who  considered  the  revolution  a  mere  rebellion,  soon 
to  be  put  down  by  his  majesty's  forces.  A  number  of  these  took 
refuge  within  the  British  lines,  joined  the  military  bands  of  refu 
gees,  and  became  pioneers  or  leaders  to  foraging  parties  sent  out 
from  New  York  to  scour  the  country  and  sweep  off  supplies  for 
the  British  army. 

In  a  little  while,  the  debatable  ground  became  infested  by 
roving  bands,  claiming  from  either  side,  and.  all  pretending  to 
redress  wrongs  and  punish  political  offences ;  but  all  prone  in  the 
exercise  of  their  high  functions,  to  sack  hen-roosts,  drive  off  cattle, 
and  lay  farm-houses  under  contribution  :  such  was  the  origin  of 
two  great  orders  of  border  chivalry,  the  Skinners  and  the  Cow 
Boys,  famous  in  revolutionary  story;  the  former  fought,  or  rather 
marauded  under  the  American,  the  latter  under  the  British 
banner.  In  the  zeal  of  service,  both  were  apt  to  make  blunders, 
and  confound  the  property  of  friend  and  foe.  Neither  of  them  in 
the  heat  and  hurry  of  a  foray  had  time  to  ascertain  the  politics 
of  a  horse  or  cow,  which  they  were  driving  off  into  captivity  ;  nor, 
when  they  wrung  the  neck  of  a  rooster,  did  they  trouble  their 
heads  whether  he  crowed  for  Congress  or  King  George. 

To  check  these  enormities,  a  confederacy  was  formed  among 
the  yeomanry  who  had  suffered  from  these  maraudings.  It  was 
composed  for  the  most  part  of  farmers'  sons,  bold,  hard-riding 
lads,  well  armed,  and  well  mounted,  and  undertook  to  clear  the 
country  round  of  Skinner  and  Cow  Boy,  and  all  other  border  ver 
min  ;  as  the  Holy  Brotherhood  in  old  times  cleared  Spain  of  the 
banditti  which  infested  her  highways. 


18  WOLFERTS  ROOST. 


Wolfert's  Roost  was  one  of  the  rallying  places  of  this  confed 
eracy,  and  Jacob  Van  Tassel  one  of  its  members.  He  was  emi 
nently  fitted  for  the  service  :  stout  of  frame,  bold  of  heart,  and  like 
his  predecessor,  the  warrior  sachem  of  yore,  delighting  in  daring 
enterprises.  He  had  an  Indian's  sagacity  in  discovering  when  the 
enemy  was  on  the  maraud,  and  in  hearing  the,  distant  tramp  of 
cattle.  It  seemed  as  if  he  had  a  scout  on  every  hill,  and  an  ear 
as  quick  as  that  of  Fine  Ear  in  the  fairy  tale. 

The  foraging  parties  of  tories  and  refugees  had  now  to  be  se 
cret  and  sudden  in  their  forays  into  Westchester  County ;  to  make 
a  hasty  maraud  among  the  farms,  sweep  the  cattle  into  a  drove, 
and  hurry  down  to  the  lines  along  the  river  road,  or  the  valley  of 
the  Neperan.  Before  they  were  half  way  down,  Jacob  Van  Tassel, 
with  the  holy  brotherhood  of  Tarry  town,  Petticoat  Lane,  and 
Sleepy  Hollow,  would  be  clattering  at  their  heels.  And  now 
there  would  be  a  general  scamper  for  King's  Bridge,  the  pass 
over  Spiting  Devil  Creek  into  the  British  lines.  Sometimes  the 
moss-troopers  would  be  overtaken,  and  eased  of  part  of  their 
booty.  Sometimes  the  whole  cavalgada  would  urge  its  headlong 
course  across  the  bridge  with  thundering  tramp  and  dusty  whirl 
wind.  At  such  times  their  pursuers  would  rein  up  their  steeds, 
survey  that  perilous  pass  with  wary  eye  and,  wheeling  about,  in 
demnify  themselves  by  foraging  the  refugee  region  of  Morrisania. 

While  the  debatable  land  was  liable  to  be  thus  harried,  the 
great  Tappan  Sea,  along  which  it  extends,  was  likewise  domineered 
over  by  the  foe.  British  ships  of  war  were  anchored  here  and 
there  in  the  wide  expanses  of  the  river,  mere  floating  castles  to 
hold  it  in  subjection.  Stout  galleys  armed  with  eighteen  pound 
ers,  and  navigated  with  sails  and  oars,  cruised  about  like  hawks ; 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  19 


while  row-boats  made  descents  upon  the  land,  and  foraged  the 
country  along  shore. 

It  was  a  sore  grievance  to  the  yeomanry  along  the  Tappan  Sea 
to  behold  that  little  Mediterranean  ploughed  by  hostile  prows, 
and  the  noble  river  of  which  they  were  so  proud,  reduced  to  a 
state  of  thraldom.  Councils  of  war  were  held  by  captains  of 
market-boats  and  other  river  craft,  to  devise  ways  and  means  of 
dislodging  the  enemy.  Here  and  there  on  a  point  of  land  ex 
tending  into  the  Tappan  Sea,  a  mud  work  would  be  thrown  up, 
and  an  old  field-piece  mounted,  with  which  a  knot  of  rustic  artil 
lerymen  would  fire  away  for  a  long  summer's  day  at  some  frigate 
dozing  at  anchor  far  out  of  reach ;  and  reliques  of  such  works 
may  still  be  seen  overgrown  with  weeds  and  brambles,  with  perad- 
venture  the  half-buried  fragment  of  a  cannon  which  may  have 
burst. 

Jacob  Van  Tassel  was  a  prominent  man  in  these  belligerent 
operations ;  but  he  was  prone  moroever,  to  carry  on  a  petty  war 
fare  of  his  own  for  his  individual  recreation  and  refreshment.  On 
a  row  of  hooks  above  the  fireplace  of  the  Roost,  reposed  his  great 
piece  of  ordnance ;  a  duck,  or  rather  goose  gun  of  unparalleled 
longitude,  with  which  it  was  said  he  could  kill  a  wild  goose  half 
way  across  the  Tappan  Sea.  Indeed  there  are  as  many  wonders 
told  of  this  renowned  gun,  as  of  the  enchanted  weapons  of  clas 
sic  story.  When  the  belligerent  feeling  was  strong  upon  Jacob, 
he  would  take  down  his  gun,  sally  forth  alone,  and  prowl  along 
shore,  dodging  behind  rocks  and  trees,  watching  for  hours  together 
any  ship  or  galley  at  anchor  or  becalmed ;  as  a  valorous  mouser 
will  watch  a  rat  hole.  So  sure  as  a  boat  approached  the  shore, 
bang !  went  the  great  goose  gun,  sending  on  board  a  shower  of 


20  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


slugs  and  buck  shot ;  and  away  scuttled  Jacob  Yan  Tassel  through 
some  woody  ravine.  As  the  Roost  stood  in  a  lonely  situation, 
and  might  be  attacked,  he  guarded  against  surprise  by  making 
loop-holes  in  the  stone  walls,  through  which  to  fire  upon  an  as 
sailant.  His  wife  was  stout-hearted  as  himself,  and  could  load 
as  fast  as  he  could  fire,  and  his  sister,  Nochie  Van  Wurmer,  a  re 
doubtable  widow,  was  a  match,  as  he  said,  for  the  stoutest  man  in 
the  country.  Thus  garrisoned,  his  little  castle  was  fitted  to  stand 
a  siege,  and  Jacob  was  the  man  to  defend  it  to  the  last  charge  of 
powder. 

In  the  process  of  time  the  Roost  became  one  of  the  secret 
stations,  or  lurking  places,  of  the  Water  Guard.  This  was  an 
aquatic  corps  in  the  pay  of  government,  organized  to  range  the 
waters  of  the  Hudson,  and  keep  watch  upon  the  movements  of  the 
enemy.  It  was  composed  of  nautical  men  of  the  river  and  hardy 
youngsters  of  the  adjacent  country,  expert  at  pulling  an  oar  or 
handling  a  musket.  They  were  provided  with  whale-boats,  long 
and  sharp,  shaped  like  canoes,  and  formed  to  lie  lightly  on  the 
water,  and  be  rowed  with  great  rapidity.  In  these  they  would 
lurk  out  of  sight  by  day,  in  nooks  and  bays,  and  behind  points  of 
land ;  keeping  a  sharp  look-out  upon  the  British  ships,  and  giving 
intelligence  to  head  quarters  of  any  extraordinary  movement.  At 
night  they  rowed  about  in  pairs,  pulling  quietly  along  with  muf 
fled  oars,  under  shadow  of  the  land,  or  gliding  like  spectres 
about  frigates  and  guard  ships  to  cut  off  any  boat  that  might  be 
sent  to  shore.  In  this  way  they  were  a  source  of  constant  un 
easiness  and  alarm  to  the  enemy. 

The  Roost,  as  has  been  observed,  was  one  of  their  lurking 
places ;  having  a  cove  in  front  where  their  whale-boats  could  be 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  21 


drawn  up  out  of  sight,  and  Jacob  Van  Tassel  being  a  vigilant  ally 
ready  to  take  a  part  in  any  "  scout  or  scrummage  "  by  land  or 
water.  At  this  little  warrior  nest  the  hard-riding  lads  from  the 
hills  would  hold  consultations  with  the  chivalry  of  the  river,  and 
here  were  concerted  divers  of  those  daring  enterprises  which  re 
sounded  from  Spiting  Devil  Creek  even  unto  Anthony's  Nose. 
Here  was  concocted  the  midnight  invasion  of  New  York  Island, 
and  the  conflagration  of  Delancy's  Tory  mansion,  which  makes 
such  a  blaze  in  revolutionary  history.  Nay  more,  if  the  tradi 
tions  of  the  Roost  may  be  credited,  here  was  meditated  by  Jacob 
Van  Tassel  and  his  compeers,  a  nocturnal  foray  into  New  York  it 
self,  to  surprise  and  carry  off  the  British  commanders  Howe  and 
Clinton,  and  put  a  triumphant  close  to  the  war. 

There  is  no  knowing  whether  this  notable  scheme  might  not  have 
been  carried  into  effect,  had  not  one  of  Jacob  Van  Tassel's  egre 
gious  exploits  along  shore  with  his  goose-gun,  with  which  he  thought 
himself  a  match  for  any  thing,  brought  vengeance  on  his  house. 

It  so  happened,  that  in  the  course  of  one  of  his  solitary  prowls 
he  descried  a  British  transport  aground;  the  stern  swung  toward 
shore  within  point-blank  shot.  The  temptation  was  too  great  to 
be  resisted.  Bang !  went  the  great  goose-gun,  from  the  covert 
of  the  trees,  shivering  the  cabin  windows  and  driving  all  hands 
forward.  Bang!  bang!  the  shots  were  repeated.  The  re 
ports  brought  other  of  Jacob's  fellow  bush-fighters  to  the  spot. 
Before  the  transport  could  bring  a  gun  to  bear,  or  land  a  boat 
to  take  revenge,  she  was  soundly  peppered,  and  the  coast  evac 
uated. 

This  was  the  last  of  Jacob's  triumphs.  He  fared  like  some 
heroic  spider  that  has  unwittingly  ensnared  a  hornet  to  the  utter 


22  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


ruin  of  his  web.  It  was  not  long  after  the  above  exploit  that  he 
fell  into  the  hands  of  the  enemy  in  the  course  of  one  of  his  forays, 
and  was  carried  away  prisoner  to  New  York.  The  Roost  itself, 
as  a  pestilent  rebel  nest,  was  marked  out  for  signal  punishment. 
The  cock  of  the  Roost  being  captive,  there  was  none  to  garrison 
it  but  his  stout-hearted  spouse,  his  redoubtable  sister,  Nochie 
Van  Wurmer,  and  Dinah,  a  strapping  negro  wench.  An  armed 
vessel  came  to  anchor  in  front  •  a  boat  full  of  men  pulled  to 
shore.  The  garrison  flew  to  arms ;  that  is  to  say,  to  mops,  broom 
sticks,  shovels,  tongs,  and  all  kinds  of  domestic  weapons  ;  for  un 
luckily,  the  great  piece  of  ordnance,  the  goose-gun,  was  absent 
with  its  owner.  Above  all,  a  vigorous  defence  was  made  with 
that  most  potent  of  female  weapons,  the  tongue.  Never  did 
invaded  hen-roost  make  a  more  vociferous  outcry.  It  was  all 
in  vain.  The  house  was  sacked  and  plundered,  fire  was  set  to 
each  corner,  and  in  a  few  moments  its  blaze  shed  a  baleful  light 
far  over  the  Tappan  Sea.  The  invaders  then  pounced  upon  the 
blooming  Laney  Van  Tassel,  the  beauty  of  the  Roost,  and  endea 
vored  to  bear  her  off  to  the  boat.  But  here  was  the  real  tug  of 
war.  The  mother,  the  aunt,  and  the  strapping  negro  wench,  all 
flew  to  the  rescue.  The  struggle  continued  down  to  the  very 
water's  edge ;  when  a  voice  from  the  armed  vessel  at  anchor,  or 
dered  the  spoilers  to  desist;  they  relinquished  their  prize, 
jumped  into  their  boats,  and  pulled  off,  and  the  heroine  of  the 
Roost  escaped  with  a  mere  rumpling  of  the  feathers. 

As  to  the  stout  Jacob  himself,  he  was  detained  a  prisoner  in 
New  York  for  the  greater  part  of  the  war ;  in  the  mean  time  the 
Roost  remained  a  melancholy  ruin,  its  stone  walls  and  brick  chim 
neys  alone  standing,  the  resorts  of  bats  and  owls.  Superstitious  no- 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  23 


tions  prevailed  about  it.  None  of  the  country  people  would  ven 
ture  alone  at  night  down  the  rambling  lane  which  led  to  it,  over 
hung  with  trees  and  crossed  here  and  there  by  a  wild  wandering 
brook.  The  story  went  that  one  of  the  victims  of  Jacob  Van  Tas 
sel's  great  goose-gun  had  been  buried  there  in  unconsecrated 
ground. 

Even  the  Tappan  Sea  in  front  was  said  to  be  haunted.  Often 
in  the  still  twilight  of  a  summer  evening,  when  the  Sea  would  be 
as  glass,  and  the  opposite  hills  would  throw  their  purple  shadows 
half  across  it,  a  low  sound  would  be  heard  as  of  the  steady  vigor 
ous  pull  of  oars,  though  not  a  boat  was  to  be  descried.  Some 
might  have  supposed  that  a  boat  was  rowed  along  unseen  under 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  opposite  shores;  but  the  ancient  tradi- 
tionists  of  the  neighborhood  knew  better.  Some  said  it  was  one 
of  the  whale-boats  of  the  old  water-guard,  sunk  by  the  British 
ships  during  the  war,  but  now  permitted  to  haunt  its  old  cruising 
grounds  ;  but  the  prevalent  opinion  connected  it  with  the  awful 
fate  of  Rambout  Van  Dam  of  graceless  memory.  He  was  a  roys- 
tering  Dutchman  of  Spiting  Devil,  who  in  times  long  past  had 
navigated  his  boat  alone  one  Saturday  the  whole  length  of  the 
Tappan  Sea,  to  attend  a  quilting  frolic  at  Kakiat,  on  the  western 
shore.  Here  he  had  danced,  and  drunk,  until  midnight,  when  he 
entered  his  boat  to  return  home.  He  was  warned  that  he  was  on 
the  verge  of  Sunday  morning;  but  he  pulled  off  nevertheless, 
swearing  he  would  not  land  until  he  reached  Spiting  Devil,  if  it 
took  him  a  month  of  Sundays.  He  was  never  seen  afterwards  ; 
but  may  be  heard  plying  his  oars,  as  above  mentioned,  being  the 
Flying  Dutchman  of  the  Tappan  Sea,  doomed  to  ply  between  Ka 
kiat  and  Spiting  Devil  until  the  day  of  judgment. 


24  WOLFERTS  EOOST. 


CHRONICLE      III. 

The  revolutionary  war  was  over.  The  debatable  ground  had 
once  more  become  a  quiet  agricultural  region  ;  the  border  chivalry 
had  turned  their  swords  into  ploughshares,  and  their  spears  into 
pruning  hooks,  and  hung  up  their  guns,  only  to  be  taken  down 
occasionally  in  a  campaign  against  wild  pigeons  on  the  hills,  or  wild 
ducks  upon  the  Hudson.  Jacob  Yan  Tassel,  whilome  carried 
captive  to  New  York,  a  flagitious  rebel,  had  come  forth  from  cap 
tivity  a  "  hero  of  seventy-six."  In  a  little  while  he  sought  the 
scenes  of  his  former  triumphs  and  mishaps,  rebuilt  the  Roost,  re 
stored  his  goose-gun  to  the  hooks  over  the  fireplace,  and  reared 
once  more  on  high  the  glittering  weathercocks. 

Years  and  years  passed  over  the  time-honored  little  mansion. 
The  honeysuckle  and  the  sweetbrier  crept  up  its  walls ;  the  wren 
and  the  phoebe  bird  built  under  the  eaves ;  it  gradually  became 
almost  hidden  among  trees,  through  which  it  looked  forth,  as  with 
half-shut  eyes,  upon  the  Tappan  Sea.  The  Indian  spring,  famous  in 
the  days  of  the  wizard  sachem,  still  welled  up  at  the  bottom  of 
the  green  bank ;  and  the  wild  brook,  wild  as  ever,  came  babbling 
down  the  ravine,  and  threw  itself  into  the  little  cove  where  of 
yore  the  water-guard  harbored  their  whaleboats. 

Such  was  the  state  of  the  Roost  many  years  since,  at  the 
time  when  Diedrich  Knickerbocker  came  into  this  neighborhood, 
in  the  course  of  his  researches  among  the  Dutch  families  for  ma 
terials  for  his  immortal  history.  The  exterior  of  the  eventful 
little  pile  seemed  to  him  full  of  promise.  The  crow-step  gables 
were  of  the  primitive  architecture  of  the  province.  The  weather 
cocks  which  surmounted  them  had  crowed  in  the  glorious  days  of 


WOLFERTO  EOOST.  25 


the  New  Netherlands.  The  one  above  the  porch  had  actually 
glittered  of  yore  on  the  great  Vander  Heyden  palace  at  Albany  ! 

The  interior  of  the  mansion  fulfilled  its  external  promise. 
Here  were  records  of  old  times ;  documents  of  the  Dutch  dynas 
ty,  rescued  from  the  profane  hands  of  the  English,  by  Wolfert 
Acker,  when  he  retreated  from  New  Amsterdam.  Here  he  had 
treasured  them  up  like  buried  gold,  and  here  they  had  been  mi 
raculously  preserved  by  St.  Nicholas,  at  the  time  of  the  conflagra 
tion  of  the  Roost. 

Here  then  did  old  Diedrich  Knickerbocker  take  up  his  abode 
for  a  time,  and  set  to  work  with  antiquarian  zeal  to  decipher  these 
precious  documents,  which,  like  the  lost  books  of  Livy,  had  baf 
fled  the  research  of  former  historians ;  and  it  is  the  facts  drawn 
from  these  sources  which  give  his  work  the  preference,  in  point 
of  accuracy,  over  every  other  history. 

It  was  during  his  sojourn  in  this  eventful  neighborhood,  that 
the  historian  is  supposed  to  have  picked  up  many  of  those  le 
gends,  which  have  since  been  given  by  him  to  the  world,  or  found 
among  his  papers.  Such  was  the  legend  connected  with  the  old 
Dutch  church  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  The  church  itself  was  a  monu 
ment  of  bygone  days.  It  had  been  built  in  the  early  times  of 
the  province.  A  tablet  over  the  portal  bore  the  names  of  its 
founders  :  Frederick  Filipson,  a  mighty  man  of  yore,  patroon 
of  Yonkers,  and  his  wife  Katrina  Van  Gourtland,  of  the  Van 
Courtlands  of  Croton  ;  a  powerful  family  connexion,  with  one  foot 
resting  on  Spiting  Devil  Creek,  and  the  other  on  the  Croton  River. 

Two  weathercocks,  with  the  initials  of  these  illustrious  per 
sonages,  graced  each  end  of  the  church,  one  perched  over  the  bel 
fry,  the  other  over  the  chancel.  As  usual  with  ecclesiastical 
2 


26  WOLFERrS  ROOST. 


weathercocks,  each  pointed  a  different  way  j  and  there  was  a  per 
petual  contradiction  between  them  on  all  points  of  windy  doc 
trine  ;  emblematic,  alas  !  of  the  Christian  propensity  to  schism 
and  controversy. 

In  the  bury  ing-ground  adjacent  to  the  church,  reposed  the 
earliest  fathers  of  a  wide  rural  neighborhood.  Here  families 
were  garnered  together,  side  by  side,  in  long  platoons,  in  this  last 
gathering  place  of  kindred.  With  pious  hand  would  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker  turn  down  the  weeds  and  brambles  which  had 
overgrown  the  tombstones,  to  decipher  inscriptions  in  Dutch  and 
English,  of  the  names  and  virtues  of  succeeding  generations  of 
Van  Tassels,  Van  Warts,  and  other  historical  worthies,  with 
their  portraitures  faithfully  carved,  all  bearing  the  family  likeness 
to  cherubs. 

The  congregation  in  those  days  was  of  a  truly  rural  character. 
City  fashions  had  not  as  yet  stole  up  to  Sleepy  Hollow.  Dutch 
sun-bonnets  and  honest  homespun  still  prevailed.  Every  thing 
was  in  primitive  style,  even  to  the  bucket  of  water  and  tin  cup 
near  the  door  in  summer,  to  assuage  the  thirst  caused  by  the  heat 
of  the  weather  or  the  drouth  of  the  sermon. 

The  pulpit,  with  its  wide-spreading  sounding  board,  and  the 
communion  table,  curiously  carved,  had  each  come  from  Holland 
in  the  olden  time,  before  the  arts  had  sufficiently  advanced  in  the 
colony  for  such  achievements.  Around  these  on  Sundays  would 
be  gathered  the  elders  of  the  church,  gray-headed  men  who  led 
the  psalmody,  and  in  whom  it  would  be  difficult  to  recognize  the 
hard-riding  lads  of  yore,  who  scoured  the  debatable  land  in  the 
time  of  the  revolution. 

The  drowsy  influence  of  Sleepy  Hollow  was   apt  to  breathe 


WOLFERT'S  ROOST.  27 


into  this  sacred  edifice ;  and  now  and  then  an  elder  might  "be 
seen  with  his  handkerchief  over  his  face  to  keep  off  the  flies,  and 
apparently  listening  to  the  dominie ;  but  really  sunk  into  a  sum 
mer  slumber,  lulled  by  the  sultry  notes  of  the  locust  from  the 
neighboring  trees. 

And  now  a  word  or  two  about  Sleepy  Hollow,  which  many 
have  rashly  deemed  a  fanciful  creation,  like  the  Lubberland  of 
mariners.  It  was  probably  the  mystic  and  dreamy  sound  of  the 
name  which  first  tempted  the  historian  of  the  Manhattoes  into  its 
spellbound  mazes.  As  he  entered,  all  nature  seemed  for  the 
moment  to  awake  from  its  slumbers  and  break  forth  in  gratula- 
tions.  The  quail  whistled  a  welcome  from  the  corn  field ;  the 
loquacious  cat-bird  flew  from  bush  to  bush  with  restless  wing  pro 
claiming  his  approach,  or  perked  inquisitively  into  his  face,  as  if 
to  get  a  knowledge  of  his  physiognomy.  The  woodpecker  tapped 
a  tattoo  on  the  hollow  apple  tree,  and  then  peered  round  the 
trunk,  as  if  asking  how  he  relished  the  salutation ;  while  the 
squirrel  scampered  along  the  fence,  whisking  his  tail  over  his  head 
by  way  of  a  huzza. 

Here  reigned  the  golden  mean  extolled  by  poets,  in  which  no 
gold  was  to  be  found  and  very  little  silver.  The  inhabitants  of 
the  Hollow  were  of  the  primitive  stock,  and  had  intermarried  and 
bred  in  and  in,  from  the  earliest  time  of  the  province,  never 
swarming  far  from  the  parent  hive,  but  dividing  and  subdividing 
their  paternal  acres  as  they  swarmed. 

Here  were  small  farms,  each  having  its  little  portion  of  mea 
dow  and  corn  field ;  its  orchard  of  gnarled  and  sprawling  apple 
trees ;  its  garden  in  which  the  rose,  the  marigold  and  hollyhock, 
grew  sociably  with  the  cabbage,  the  pea,  and  the  pumpkin  :  each 


28  WOLFERT'S  ROOST. 


had  its  low-eaved  mansion  redundant  with  white-headed  children ; 
with  an  old  hat  nailed  against  the  wall  for  the  housekeeping  wren  ; 
the  coop  on  the  grass-plot,  where  the  motherly  hen  clucked  round 
with  her  vagrant  brood :  each  had  its  stone  well,  with  a  moss- 
covered  bucket  suspended  to  the  long  balancing  pole,  according  to 
antediluvian  hydraulics ;  while  within  doors  resounded  the  eternal 
hum  of  the  spinning  wheel. 

Many  were  the  great  historical  facts  which  the  worthy  Died- 
rich  collected  in  these  lowly  mansions,  and  patiently  would  he  sit 
by  the  old  Dutch  housewives  with  a  child  on  his  knee,  or  a  purr 
ing  grimalkin  on  his  lap,  listing  to  endless  ghost  stories  spun 
forth  to  the  humming  accompaniment  of  the  wheel. 

The  delighted  historian  pursued  his  explorations  far  into  the 
foldings  of  the  hills  where  the  Pocantico  winds  its  wizard  stream 
among  the  mazes  of  its  old  Indian  haunts ;  sometimes  running 
darkly  in  pieces  of  woodland  beneath  balancing  sprays  of  beech 
and  chestnut:  sometimes  sparkling  between  grassy  borders  in 
fresh  green  intervals;  here  and  there  receiving  the  tributes  of 
silver  rills  which  came  whimpering  down  the  hill  sides  from  their 
parent  springs. 

In  a  remote  part  of  the  Hollow,  where  the  Pocantico  forced 
its  way  down  rugged  rocks,  stood  Carl's  mill,  the  haunted  house 
of  the  neighborhood.  It  was  indeed  a  goblin-looking  pile ;  shat 
tered  and  time-worn;  dismal  with  clanking  wheels  and  rush 
ing  streams,  and  all  kinds  of  uncouth  noises.  A  horse  shoe 
nailed  to  the  door  to  keep  off  witches,  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
power ;  for  as  Diedrich  approached,  an  old  negro  thrust  his  head 
all  dabbled  with  flour,  out  of  a  hole  above  the  water  wheel,  and 
grinned  and  rolled  his  eyes,  and  appeared  to  be  the  very  hobgob- 


WOLFERT'S  EOOST.  29 


lin  of  the  place.  Yet  this  proved  to  be  the  great  historic  genius 
of  the  Hollow,  abounding  in  that  valuable  information  never  to 
be  acquired  from  books.  Diedrich  Knickerbocker  soon  discover 
ed  his  merit.  They  had  long  talks  together  seated  on  a  broken 
millstone,  heedless  of  the  water  and  the  clatter  of  the  mill ;  and 
to  his  conference  with  that  African  sage,  many  attribute  the  sur 
prising,  though  true  story  of  Ichabod  Crane,  and  the  Headless 
Horseman  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  We  refrain,  however,  from  giving 
farther  researches  of  the  historian  of  the  Manhattoes,  during  his 
sojourn  at  the  Roost ;  but  may  return  to  them  in  future  pages. 

Reader,  the  Roost  still  exists.  Time,  which  changes  all 
things,  is  slow  in  its  operations  on  a  Dutchman's  dwelling.  The 
stout  Jacob  Yan  Tassel,  it  is  true,  sleeps  with  his  fathers ;  and 
his  great  goose-gun  with  him :  yet  his  strong-hold  still  bears  the 
impress  of  its  Dutch  origin.  Odd  rumors  have  gathered  about 
it,  as  they  are  apt  to  do  about  old  mansions,  like  moss  and  wea 
ther  stains.  The  shade  of  Wolfert  Acker  still  walks  his  unquiet 
rounds  at  night  in  the  orchard  ;  and  a  white  figure  has  now  and 
then  been  seen  seated  at  a  window  and  gazing  at  the  moon, 
from  a  room  in  which  a  young  lady  is  said  to  have  died  of  love 
and  green  apples. 

Mementoes  of  the  sojourn  of  Diedrich  Knickerbocker  are 
still  cherished  at  the  Roost.  His  elbow  chair  and  antique  writ 
ing-desk  maintain  their  place  in  the  room  he  occupied,  and  his 
old  cocked  hat  still  hangs  on  a  peg  against  the  wall. 


THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING. 

MY  quiet  residence  in  the  country,  aloof  from  fashion,  politics, 
and  the  money  market,  leaves  me  rather  at  a  loss  for  occupation, 
and  drives  me  occasionally  to  the  study  of  nature,  and  other  low 
pursuits.  Having  few  neighbors,  also,  on  whom  to  keep  a  watch, 
and  exercise  my  habits  of  observation,  I  am  fain  to  amuse  myself 
with  prying  into  the  domestic  concerns  and  peculiarities  of  the 
animals  around  me;  and,  during  the  present  season,  have  derived 
considerable  entertainment  from  certain  sociable  little  birds,  al 
most  the  only  visitors  we  have,  during  this  early  part  of  the  year. 
Those  who  have  passed  the  winter  in  the  country,  are  sensible 
of  the  delightful  influences  that  accompany  the  earliest  indications 
of  spring ;  and  of  these,  none  are  more  delightful  than  the  first 
notes  of  the  birds.  There  is  one  modest  little  sad-colored  bird, 
much  resembling  a  wren,  which  came  about  the  house  just  on  the 
skirts  of  winter,  when  not  a  blade  of  grass  was  to  be  seen,  and 
when  a  few  prematurely  warm  days  had  given  a  flattering  foretaste 
of  soft  weather.  He  sang  early  in  the  dawning,  long  before  sun 
rise,  and  late  in  the  evening,  just  before  the  closing  in  of  night, 


THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING.  31 


his  matin  and  his  vesper  hymns.  It  is  true,  he  sang  occasionally 
throughout  the  day ;  but  at  these  still  hours,  his  song  was  more 
remarked.  He  sat  on  a  leafless  tree,  just  before  the  window,  and 
warbled  forth  his  notes,  few  and  simple,  but  singularly  sweet,  with 
something  of  a  plaintive  tone,  that  heightened  their  effect. 

The  first  morning  that  he  was  heard,  was  a  joyous  one  among 
the  young  folks  of  my  household.  The  long,  death-like  sleep  of 
winter  was  at  an  end;  nature  was  once  more  awakening;  they  now 
promised  themselves  the  immediate  appearance  of  buds  and  blos 
soms.  I  was  reminded  of  the  tempest-tossed  crew  of  Columbus, 
when,  after  their  long  dubious  voyage,  the  field  birds  came  singing 
round  the  ship,  though  still  far  at  sea,  rejoicing  them  with  the  be 
lief  of  the  immediate  proximity  of  land.  A  sharp  return  of  winter 
almost  silenced  my  little  songster,  and  dashed  the  hilarity  of  the 
household;  yet  still  he  poured  forth,  now  and  then,  a  few  plaintive 
notes,  between  the  frosty  pipings  of  the  breeze,  like  gleams  of  sun 
shine  between  wintry  clouds. 

I  have  consulted  my  book  of  ornithology  in  vain,  to  find  out 
the  name  of  this  kindly  little  bird,  who  certainly  deserves  honor 
and  favor  far  beyond  his  modest  pretensions.  He  comes  like  the 
lowly  violet,  the  most  unpretending,  but  welcomest  of  flowers^ 
breathing  the  sweet  promise  of  the  early  year. 

Another  of  our  feathered  visitors,  who  follow  close  upon  the 
steps  of  winter,  is  the  Pe-wit,  or  Pe-wee,  or  Phoebe-bird;  for  he 
is  called  by  each  of  these  names,  from  a  fancied  resemblance  to 
the  sound  of  his  monotonous  note.  He  is  a  sociable  little  being, 
and  seeks  the  habitation  of  man.  A  pair  of  them  have  built  be 
neath  my  porch,  and  have  reared  several  broods  there,  for  two 
years  past,  their  nest  being  never  disturbed.  They  arrive  early 


82  TIJE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING. 


in  the  spring,  just  when  the  crocus  and  the  snow-drop  begin  to 
peep  forth.  Their  first  chirp  spreads  gladness  through  the  house. 
"  The  Phoebe  birds  have  come ! "  is  heard  on  all  sides ;  they  are 
welcomed  back  like  members  of  the  family ;  and  speculations  are 
made  upon  where  they  have  been,  and  what  countries  they  have 
seen,  during  their  long  absence.  Their  arrival  is  the  more  cheer 
ing,  as  it  is  pronounced,  by  the  old  weather-wise  people  of  the 
country,  the  sure  sign  that  the  severe  frosts  are  at  an  end,  and 
that  the  gardener  may  resume  his  labors  with  confidence. 

About  this  time,  too,  arrives  the  blue-bird,  so  poetically  yet 
truly  described  by  Wilson.  His  appearance  gladdens  the  whole 
landscape.  You  hear  his  soft  warble  in  every  field.  He  sociably 
approaches  your  habitation,  and  takes  up  his  residence  in  your 
vicinity.  But  why  should  I  attempt  to  describe  him,  when  I  have 
Wilson's  own  graphic  verses,  to  place  him  before  the  reader  ? 

When  winter's  cold  tempests  and  snows  are  no  more, 

Green  meadows  and  brown  furrowed  fields  reappearing, 
The  fishermen  hauling  their  shad  to  the  shore, 

And  cloud-cleaving  geese  to  the  lakes  are  a-steering ; 
"When  first  the  lone  butterfly  flits  on  the  wing, 

"When  red  glow  the  maples,  so  fresh  and  so  pleasing, 
O  then  comes  the  blue-bird,  the  herald  of  spring, 

And  hails  with  his  warblings  the  charms  of  the  season. 

The  loud-piping  frogs  make  the  marshes  to  ring; 

Then  warm  glows  the  sunshine,  and  warm  grows  the  weather ; 
The  blue  woodland  flowers  just  beginning  to  spring, 

And  spice-wood  and  sassafras  budding  together ; 
O  then  to  your  gardens,  ye  housewives,  repair, 

Your  walks  border  up,  sow  and  plant  at  your  leisure ; 


THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING. 


The  blue-bird  will  chant  from  his  box  such  an  air, 
That  all  your  hard  toils  will  seem  truly  a  pleasure ! 

He  flits  through  the  orchard,  he  visits  each  tree, 

The  red  flowering  peach,  and  the  apple's  sweet  blossoms ; 
He  snaps  up  destroyers,  wherever  they  be, 

And  seizes  the  caitiffs  that  lurk  in  their  bosoms ; 
He  drags  the  vile  grub  from  the  corn  it  devours, 

The  worms  from  the  webs  where  they  riot  and  welter; 
His  song  and  his  services  freely  are  ours, 

And  all  that  he  asks  is,  in  summer  a  shelter. 

The  ploughman  is  pleased  when  he  gleans  in  his  train, 

Now  searching  the  furrows,  now  mounting  to  cheer  him ; 
The  gard'ner  delights  in  his  sweet  simple  strain, 

And  leans  on  his  spade  to  survey  and  to  hear  him. 
The  slow  lingering  school-boys  forget  they'll  be  chid, 

While  gazing  intent,  as  he  warbles  before  them. 
In  mantle  of  sky-blue,  and  bosom  so  red, 

That  each  little  loiterer  seems  to  -adore  him. 

The  happiest  bird  of  our  spring,  however,  and  one  that  rivals 
the  European  lark  in  my  estimation,  is  the  Boblincon,  or  Boblink, 
as  he  is  commonly  called.  He  arrives  at  that  choice  portion  of 
our  year,  which,  in  this  latitude,  answers  to  the  description  of  the 
month  of  May,  so  often  given  by  the  poets.  With  us,  it  begins 
about  the  middle  of  May,  and  lasts  until  nearly  the  middle  of  June. 
Earlier  than  this,  winter  is  apt  to  return  on  its  traces,  and  to 
blight  the  opening  beauties  of  the  year ;  and  later  than  this,  begin 
the  parching,  and  panting,  and  dissolving  heats  of  summer.  But 
in  this  genial  interval,  nature  is  in  all  her  freshness  and  fragrance : 

2* 


34  THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING. 


"  the  rains  are  over  and  gone,  the  flowers  appear  upon  the  earth, 
the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds  is  come,  and  the  voice  of  the  tur 
tle  is  heard  in  the  land."  The  trees  are  now  in  their  fullest 
foliage  and  brightest  verdure  ;  the  woods  are  gay  with  the  clus 
tered  flowers  of  the  laurel ;  the  air  is  perfumed  by  the  sweet-brier 
and  the  wild  rose ;  the  meadows  are  enamelled  with  clover-blos 
soms  ;  while  the  young  apple,  the  peach,  and  the  plum,  begin  to 
swell,  and  the  cherry  to  glow,  among  the  green  leaves. 

This  is  the  chosen  season  of  revelry  of  the  Boblink.  He 
comes  amidst  the  pomp  and  fragrance  of  the  season ;  his  life 
seems  all  sensibility  and  enjoyment,  all  song  and  sunshine.  He 
is  to  be  found  in  the  soft  bosoms  of  the  freshest  and  sweetest 
meadows ;  and  is  most  in  song,  when  the  clover  is  in  blossom. 
He  perches  on  the  topmost  twig  of  a  tree,  or  on  some  long  flaunt 
ing  weed,  and  as  he  rises  and  sinks  with  the  breeze,  pours  forth  a 
succession  of  rich  tinkling  notes;  crowding  one  upon  another, 
like  the  outpouring  melody  of  the  skylark,  and  possessing  the 
same  rapturous  character.  Sometimes  he  pitches  from  the  sum 
mit  of  a  tree,  begins  his  song  as  soon  as  he  gets  upon  the  wing, 
and  flutters  tremulously  down  to  the  earth,  as  if  overcome  with 
ecstasy  at  his  own  music.  Sometimes  he  is  in  pursuit  of  his 
paramour ;  always  in  full  song,  as  if  he  would  win  her  by  his 
melody ;  and  always  with  the  same  appearance  of  intoxication  and 
delight. 

Of  all  the  birds  of  our  groves  and  meadows,  the  Boblink  was 
the  envy  of  my  boyhood.     He  crossed  my  path  in  the  sweetest 
weather,  and  the  sweetest  season  of  the  year,  when  all  natur 
called  to  the  fields,  and  the  rural  feeling  throbbed  in  every  bosom ; 
but  when  I,  luckless  urchin  !  was  doomed  to  be  mewed  up,  during 


THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING.  35 


the  livelong  day,  in  that  purgatory  of  boyhood,  a  school-room.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  little  varlet  mocked  at  me,  as  he  flew  by  in  full 
song,  and  sought  to  taunt  me  with  his  happier  lot.  Oh,  how  I 
envied  him  !  No  lessons,  no  task,  no  hateful  school ;  nothing  but 
holiday,  frolic,  green  fields,  and  fine  weather.  Had  I  been  then 
more  versed  in  poetry,  I  might  have  addressed  him  in  the  words 
of  Logan  to  the  cuckoo : 

Sweet  bird!  thy  bower  is  ever  green, 

Thy  sky  is  ever  clear ; 
Thou  hast  no  sorrow  in  thy  note, 

No  winter  in  thy  year. 

Ohl  could  I  fly,  I'd  fly  with  thee; 

"We'd  make,  on  joyful  wing, 
Our  annual  visit  round  the  globe, 

Companions  of  the  spring ! 

Further  observation  and  experience  have  given  me  a  different 
idea  of  this  little  feathered  voluptuary,  which  I  will  venture  to 
impart,  for  the  benefit  of  my  schoolboy  readers,  who  may  regard 
him  with  the  same  unqualified  envy  and  admiration  which  I  once 
indulged.  I  have  shown  him  only  as  I  saw  him  at  first,  in  what 
I  may  call  the  poetical  part  of  his  career,  when  he  in  a  manner 
devoted  himself  to  elegant  pursuits  and  enjoyments,  and  was  a 
bird  of  music,  and  song,  and  taste,  and  sensibility,  and  refinement. 
While  this  lasted,  he  was  sacred  from  injury ;  the  very  schoolboy 
would  not  fling  a  stone  at  him,  and  the  merest  rustic  would  pause 
to  listen  to  his  strain.  But  mark  the  difference.  As  the  year 
advances,  as  the  clover  blossoms  disappear,  and  the  spring  fades 


36  THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING. 


into  summer,  he  gradually  gives  up  his  elegant  tastes  and  habits  j 
doffs  his  poetical  suit  of  black,  assumes  a  russet  dusty  garb,  and 
ginks  to  the  gross  enjoyments  of  common  vulgar  birds.  His 
notes  no  longer  vibrate  on  the  ear ;  he  is  stuffing  himself  with  the 
seeds  of  the  tall  weeds  on  which  he  lately  swung  and  chanted  so 
melodiously.  He  has  become  a  "  bon  vivant,"  a  "  gourmand ;  n 
with  him  now  there  is  nothing  like  the  "joys  of  the  table."  In  a 
little  while  he  grows  tired  of  plain  homely  fare,  and  is  off  on  a 
gastronomical  tour  in  quest  of  foreign  luxuries.  We  next  hear 
of  him  with  myriads  of  his  kind,  banqueting  among  the  reeds  of 
the  Delaware ;  and  grown  corpulent  with  good  feeding.  He  has 
changed  his  name  in  travelling.  Boblincon  no  more — he  is  the 
JReed-bird  now,  the  much  sought  for  titbit  of  Pennsylvania  epi- 
eures ;  the  rival  in  unlucky  fame  of  the  ortolan !  Wherever  he 
goes,  pop  !  pop  !  pop  !  every  rusty  firelock  in  the  country  is  blaz 
ing  away.  He  sees  his  companions  falling  by  thousands  around 
him. 

Does  he  take  warning  and  reform  ? — Alas  not  he !  Incor 
rigible  epicure  !  again  he  wings  his  flight.  The  rice  swamps  of 
the  south  invite  him.  He  gorges  himself  among  them  almost  to 
bursting ;  he  can  scarcely  fly  for  corpulency.  He  has  once  more 
changed  his  name,  and  is  now  the  famous  Eice-lird  of  the  Caro- 
linas. 

Last  stage  of  his  career ;  behold  him  spitted  with  dozens  of 
his  corpulent  companions,  and  served  up,  a  vaunted  dish,  on  the 
table  of  some  Southern  gastronome. 

Such  is  the  story  of  the  Boblink;  once  spiritual,  musical, 
admired,  the  joy  of  the  meadows,  and  the  favorite  bird  of  spring ; 
finally,  a  gross  little  sensualist  who  expiates  his  sensuality  in  the 


THE  BIRDS  OF  SPRING.  37 


larder.  His  story  contains  a  moral,  worthy  the  attention  of  all 
little  birds  and  little  boys ;  warning  them  to  keep  to  those  refined 
and  intellectual  pursuits,  which  raised  him  to  so  high  a  pitch  of 
popularity  during  the  early  part  of  his  career ;  but  to  eschew 
all  tendency  to  that  gross  and  dissipated  indulgence,  which  brought 
this  mistaken  little  bird  to  an  untimely  end. 

Which  is  all  at  present,  from  the  well-wisher  of  little  boys  and 

little  birds, 

GEOFFREY  CRAYON. 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 

A      SKETCH      FROM      A      STEAMBOAT. 

First  published  in  188T. 

IN  travelling  about  our  motley  country,  I  am  often  reminded  of 
Ariosto's  account  of  the  moon,  in  which  the  good  paladin  Astolpho 
found  every  thing  garnered  up  that  had  been  lost  on  earth.  So 
I  am  apt  to  imagine,  that  many  things  lost  in  the  old  world,  are 
treasured  up  in  the  new ;  having  been  handed  down  from  genera 
tion  to  generation,  since  the  early  days  of  the  colonies.  A 
European  antiquary,  therefore,  curious  in  his  researches  after  the 
ancient  and  almost  obliterated  customs  and  usages  of  his  coun 
try,  would  do  well  to  put  himself  upon  the  track  of  some  early 
band  of  emigrants,  follow  them  across  the  Atlantic,  and  rummage 
among  their  descendants  on  our  shores. 

In  the  phraseology  of  New  England  might  be  found  many  an 
old  English  provincial  phrase,  long  since  obsolete  in  the  parent 
country ;  with  some  quaint  relics  of  the  roundheads ;  while  Vir 
ginia  cherishes  peculiarities  characteristic  of  the  days  of  Elizabeth 
and  Sir  Walter  Raleigh. 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  39 


In  the  same  way,  the  sturdy  yeomanry  of  New  Jersey  and 
Pennsylvania  keep  up  many  usages  fading  away  in  ancient  Ger 
many  ;  while  many  an  honest,  broad-bottomed  custom,  nearly  ex 
tinct  in  venerable  Holland,  may  be  found  nourishing  in  pristine 
vigor  and  luxuriance  in  Dutch  villages,  on  the  banks  of  the  Mo 
hawk  and  the  Hudson. 

In  no  part  of  our  country,  however,  are  the  customs  and  pe 
culiarities,  imported  from  the  old  world  by  the  earlier  settlers, 
kept  up  with  more  fidelity  than  in  the  little,  poverty-stricken  vil 
lages  of  Spanish  and  French  origin,  which  border  the  rivers  of 
ancient  Louisiana.  Their  population  is  generally  made  up  of  the 
descendants  of  those  nations,  married  and  interwoven  together, 
and  occasionally  crossed  with  a  slight  dash  of  the  Indian.  The 
French  character,  however,  floats  on  top,  as,  from  its  buoyant 
qualities,  it  is  sure  to  do,  whenever  it  forms  a  particle,  however 
small,  of  an  intermixture. 

In  these  serene  and  dilapidated  villages,  art  and  nature  stand 
still,  and  the  world  forgets  to  turn  round.  The  revolutions  that  dis 
tract  other  parts  of  this  mutable  planet,  reach  not  here,  or  pass  over 
without  leaving  any  trace.  The  fortunate  inhabitants  have  none 
of  that  public  spirit  which  extends  its  cares  beyond  its  horizon, 
and  imports  trouble  and  perplexity  from  all  quarters  in  newspapers. 
In  fact,  newspapers  are  almost  unknown  in  these  villages,  and  as 
French  is  the  current  language,  the  inhabitants  have  little  com 
munity  of  opinion  with  their  republican  neighbors.  They  retain, 
therefore,  their  old  habits  of  passive  obedience  to  the  decrees  of 
government,  as  though  they  still  lived  under  the  absolute  sway  of 
colonial  commandants,  instead  of  being  part  and  parcel  of  the 
sovereign  people,  and  having  a  voice  in  public  legislation. 


40  THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 


A  few  aged  men,  who  have  grown  gray  on  their  hereditary 
acres,  and  are  of  the  good  old  colonial  stock,  exert  a  patriarchal 
sway  in  all  matters  of  public  and  private  import ;  their  opinions 
are  considered  oracular,  and  their  word  is  law. 

The  inhabitants,  moreover,  have  none  of  that  eagerness  for 
gain,  and  rage  for  improvement,  which  keep  our  people  continually 
on  the  move,  and  our  country  towns  incessantly  in  a  state  of  tran 
sition.  There  the  magic  phrases,  "  town  lots,  "  "  water  privileges," 
"railroads,"  and  other  comprehensive  and  soul-stirring  words, 
from  the  speculator's  vocabulary,  are  never  heard.  The  residents 
dwell  in  the  houses  built  by  their  forefathers,  without  thinking 
of  enlarging  or  modernizing  them,  or  pulling  them  down  and  turn 
ing  them  into  granite  stores.  The  trees,  under  which  they  have 
been  born,  and  have  played  in  infancy,  nourish  undisturbed; 
though,  by  cutting  them  down,  they  might  open  new  streets,  and 
put  money  in  their  pockets.  In  a  word,  the  almighty  dollar,  that 
great  object  of  universal  devotion  throughout  our  land,  seems  to 
have  no  genuine  devotees  in  these  peculiar  villages ;  and  unless 
some  of  its  missionaries  penetrate  there,  and  erect  banking  houses 
and  other  pious  shrines,  there  is  no  knowing  how  long  the  inhabi 
tants  may  remain  in  their  present  state  of  contented  poverty. 

In  descending  one  of  our  great  western  rivers  in  a  steamboat, 
I  met  with  two  worthies  from  one  of  these  villages,  who  had  been 
on  a  distant  excursion,  the  longest  they  had  ever  made,  as  they 
seldom  ventured  far  from  home.  One  was  the  great  man,  or  Grand 
Seigneur  of  the  village ;  not  that  he  enjoyed  any  legal  privileges 
or  power  there,  every  thing  of  the  kind  having  been  done  away 
when  the  province  was  ceded  by  France  to  the  United  States. 
His  sway  over  his  neighbors  was  merely  one  of  custom  and  con« 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 


vention,  out  of  deference  to  his  family.  Beside,  he  was  worth  full 
fifty  thousand  dollars,  an  amount  almost  equal,  in  the  imaginations 
of  the  villagers,  to  the  treasures  of  King  Solomon. 

This  very  substantial  old  gentleman,  though  of  the  fourth  or 
fifth  generation  in  this  country,  retained  the  true  Grallic  feature 
and  deportment,  and  reminded  me  of  one  of  those  provincial  po 
tentates,  that  are  to  be  met  with  in  the  remote  parts  of  France. 
He  was  of  a  large  frame,  a  ginger-bread  complexion,  strong  fea 
tures,  eyes  that  stood  out  like  glass  knobs,  and  a  prominent  nose, 
which  he  frequently  regaled  from  a  gold  snuff-box,  and  occasionally 
blew  with  a  colored  handkerchief,  until  it  sounded  like  a  trumpet. 

He  was  attended  by  an  old  negro,  as  black  as  ebony,  with  a 
huge  mouth,  in  a  continual  grin ;  evidently  a  privileged  and 
favorite  servant,  who  had  grown  up  and  grown  old  with  him. 
He  was  dressed  in  Creole  style—with  white  jacket  and  trou 
sers,  a  stiff  shirt  collar,  that  threatened  to  cut  off  his  ears,  a 
bright  madras  handkerchief  tied  round  his  head,  and  large  gold 
ear-rings.  He  was  the  politest  negro  I  met  with  in  a  west 
ern  tour;  and  that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  for,  excepting  the 
Indians,  the  negroes  are  the  most  gentlemanlike  personages  to  be 
met  with  in  those  parts.  It  is  true,  they  differ  from  the  Indians  in 
being  a  little  extra  polite  and  complimentary.  He  was  also  one 
of  the  merriest ;  and  here,  too,  the  negroes,  however  we  may  de 
plore  their  unhappy  condition,  have  the  advantage  of  their  mas 
ters.  The  whites  are,  in  general,  too  free  and  prosperous  to  be 
merry.  The  cares  of  maintaining  their  rights  and  liberties, 
adding  to  their  wealth,  and  making  presidents,  engross  all  their 
thoughts,  and  dry  up  all  the  moisture  of  their  souls.  If  you  hear 
a  broad,  hearty,  devil-may-care  laugh,  be  assured  it  is  a  negro's. 


42  THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 


Beside  this  African  domestic,  the  seigneur  of  the  village  had 
another  no  less  cherished  and  privileged  attendant.  This  was  a 
huge  dog,  of  the  mastiff  breed,  with  a  deep,  hanging  mouth,  and 
a  look  of  surly  gravity.  He  walked  about  the  cabin  with  the  air 
of  a  dog  perfectly  at  home,  and  who  had  paid  for  his  passage.  At 
dinner  time  he  took  his  seat  beside  his  master,  giving  him  a 
glance  now  and  then  out  of  a  corner  of  his  eye,  which  bespoke 
perfect  confidence  that  he  would  not  be  forgotten.  Nor  was  he- — 
every  now  and  then  a  huge  morsel  would  be  thrown  to  him,  perad- 
venture  the  half-picked  leg  of  a  fowl,  which  he  would  receive  with 
a  snap  like  the  springing  of  a  steel-trap — one  gulp,  and  all  was 
down  ;  and  a  glance  of  the  eye  told  his  master  that  he  was  ready 
for  another  consignment. 

The  other  village  worthy,  travelling  in  company  with  the  seig 
neur,  was  of  a  totally  different  stamp.  Small,  thin,  and  weazen- 
faced,  as  Frenchmen  are  apt  to  be  represented  in  caricature,  with 
a  bright,  squirrel-like  eye,  and  a  gold  ring  in  his  ear.  His  dress 
was  flimsy,  and  sat  loosely  on  his  frame,  and  he  had  altogether  the 
look  of  one  with  but  little  coin  in  his  pocket.  Yet,  though  one  of 
the  poorest,  I  was  assured  he  was  one  of  the  merriest  and  most 
popular  personages  in  his  native  village. 

Compere  Martin,  as  he  was  commonly  called,  was  the  facto 
tum  of  the  place — sportsman,  schoolmaster,  and  land-surveyor. 
He  could  sing,  dance,  and,  above  all,  play  on  the  fiddle,  an  inval 
uable  accomplishment  in  an  old  French  Creole  village,  for  the  in 
habitants  have  a  hereditary  love  for  balls  and  fetes  ;  if  they  work 
but  little,  they  dance  a  great  deal,  and  a  fiddle  is  the  joy  of  their 
heart. 

What  had  sent  Compere  Martin  travelling  with  the   Grand 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  43 


Seigneur  I  could  not  learn ;  lie  evidently  looked  up  to  him  with 
great  deference,  and  was  assiduous  in  rendering  him  petty  atten 
tions  ;  from  which  I  concluded  that  he  lived  at  home  upon  the 
crumbs  which  fell  from  his  table.  He  was  gayest  when  out  of 
his  sight ;  and  had  his  song  and  his  joke  when  forward,  among  the 
deck  passengers ;  but  altogether  Compere  Martin  was  out  of  his 
element  on  board  of  a  steamboat.  He  was  quite  another  being, 
I  am  told,  when  at  home,  in  his  own  village. 

Like  his  opulent  fellow-traveller,  he  too  had  his  canine  follower 
and  retainer — and  one  suited  to  his  different  fortunes — one  of  the 
ci vilest,  most  unoffending  little  dogs  in  the  world.  Unlike  the 
lordly  mastiff,  he  seemed  to  think  he  had  no  right  on  board  of 
the  steamboat ;  if  you  did  but  look  hard  at  him,  he  would  throw 
himself  upon  his  back,  and  lift  up  his  legs,  as  if  imploring 
mercy. 

At  table  he  took  his  seat  a  little  distance  from  his  master ; 
not  with  the  bluff,  confident  air  of  the  mastiff,  but  quietly  and 
diffidently ;  his  head  on  one  side,  with  one  ear  dubiously  slouched, 
the  other  hopefully  cocked  up  ;  his  under  teeth  projecting  beyond 
his  black  nose,  and  his  eye  wistfully  following  each  morsel  that 
went  into  his  master's  mouth. 

If  Compere  Martin  now  and  then  should  venture  to  abstract 
a  morsel  from  his  plate,  to  give  to  his  humble  companion,  it  was 
edifying  to  see  with  what  diffidence  the  exemplary  little  animal 
would  take  hold  of  it,  with  the  very  tip  of  his  teeth,  as  if  he 
would  almost  rather  not,  or  was  fearful  of  taking  too  great  a  lib 
erty.  And  then  with  what  decorum  would  he  eat  it !  How  many 
efforts  would  he  make  in  swallowing  it,  as  if  it  stuck  in  his  throat ; 
with  what  daintiness  would  he  lick  his  lips ;  and  then  with  what 


44  THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 


an  air  of  thankfulness  would  he  resume  his  seat,  with  his  teeth 
once  more  projecting  beyond  his  nose,  and  an  eye  of  humble  ex 
pectation  fixed  upon  his  master. 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  steamboat  stopped  at  the 
village  which  was  the  residence  of  these  worthies.  It  stood  on  the 
high  bank  of  the  river,  and  bore  traces  of  having  been  a  frontier 
trading  post.  There  were  the  remains  of  stockades  that  once 
protected  it  from  the  Indians,  and  the  houses  were  in  the  ancient 
Spanish  and  French  colonial  taste,  the  place  having  been  success 
ively  under  the  domination  of  both  those  nations  prior  to  the  ces 
sion  of  Louisiana  to  the  United  States. 

The  arrival  of  the  seigneur  of  fifty  thousand  dollars,  and  his 
humble  companion,  Compere  Martin,  had  evidently  been  looked 
forward  to  as  an  event  in  the  village.  Numbers  of  men,  women, 
and  children,  white,  yellow,  and  black,  were  collected  on  the  river 
bank ;  most  of  them  clad  in  old-fashioned  French  garments,  and 
their  heads  decorated  with  colored  handkerchiefs,  or  white  night 
caps.  The  moment  the  steamboat  came  within  sight  and  hear 
ing,  there  was  a  waving  of  handkerchiefs,  and  a  screaming  and 
bawling  of  salutations,  and  felicitations,  that  baffle  all  descrip 
tion. 

The  old  gentleman  of  fifty  thousand  dollars  was  received  by  a 
train  of  relatives,  and  friends,  and  children,  and  grandchildren, 
whom  he  kissed  on  each  cheek,  and  who  formed  a  procession  in 
his  rear,  with  a  legion  of  domestics,  of  all  ages,  following  him 
to  a  large,  old-fashioned  French  house,  that  domineered  over  the 
village. 

His  black  valet  de  chambre,  in  white  jacket  and  trousers,  and 
gold  ear-rings,  was  met  on  the  shore  by  a  boon,  though  rustic  com- 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  45 


paniou,  a  tall  negro  fellow,  with  a  long,  good-humored  face,  and 
the  profile  of  a  horse,  which  stood  out  from  beneath  a  narrow- 
rimmed  straw  hat,  stuck  on  the  back  of  his  head.  The  ex 
plosions  of  laughter  of  these  two  varlets  on  meeting  and  ex 
changing  compliments,  were  enough  to  electrify  the  country 
round. 

The  most  hearty  reception,  however,  was  that  given  to  Com 
pere  Martin.  Every  body,  young  and  old,  hailed  him  before  he 
got  to  land.  Every  body  had  a  joke  for  Compere  Martin,  and 
Compere  Martin  had  a  joke  for  every  body.  Even  his  little  dog 
appeared,  to  partake  of  his  popularity,  and  to  be  caressed  by 
every  hand.  Indeed,  he  was  quite  a  different  animal  the  moment 
he  touched  the  land.  Here  he  was  at  home;  here  he  was  of  con 
sequence.  He  barked,  he  leaped,  he  frisked  about  his  old  friends, 
and  then  would  skim  round  the  place  in  a  wide  circle,  as  if 
mad. 

I  traced  Compere  Martin  and  his  little  dog  to  their  home.  It 
was  an  old  ruinous  Spanish  house,  of  large  dimensions,  with  ve 
randas  overshadowed  by  ancient  elms.  The  house  had  probably 
been  the  residence,  in  old  times,  of  the  Spanish  commandant. 
In  one  wing  of  this  crazy,  but  aristocratical  abode,  was  nestled  the 
family  of  my  fellow-traveller ;  for  poor  devils  are  apt  to  be  magni 
ficently  clad  and  lodged,  in  the  cast-off  clothes  and  abandoned  pal 
aces  of  the  great  and  wealthy. 

The  arrival  of  Compere  Martin  was  welcomed  by  a  legion  of 
women,  children,  and  mongrel  curs ;  and,  as  poverty  and  gayety 
generally  go  hand  in  hand  among  the  French  and  their  descend 
ants,  the  crazy  mansion  soon  resounded  with  loud  gossip  and  light- 
hearted  laughter. 


46  THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 


As  the  steamboat  paused  a  short  time  at  the  village,  I  took 
occasion  to  stroll  about  the  place.  Most  of  the  houses  were  in 
the  French  taste,  with  casements  and  rickety  verandas,  but  most 
of  them  in  flimsy  and  ruinous  condition.  All  the  waggons,  ploughs, 
and  other  utensils  about  the  place  were  of  ancient  and  inconven 
ient  Gallic  construction,  such  as  had  been  brought  from  France  in 
the  primitive  days  of  the  colony.  The  very  looks  of  the  people 
reminded  me  of  the  villages  of  France. 

From  one  of  the  houses  came  the  hum  of  a  spinning  wheel,  ac 
companied  by  a  scrap  of  an  old  French  chanson,  which  I  have  heard 
many  a  time  among  the  peasantry  of  Languedoc,  doubtless  a  tra 
ditional  song,  brought  over  by  the  first  French  emigrants,  and 
handed  down  from  generation  to  generation. 

Half  a  dozen  young  lasses  emerged  from  the  adjacent  dwellings, 
reminding  me,  by  their  light  step  and  gay  costume,  of  scenes  in 
ancient  France,  where  taste  in  dress  comes  natural  to  every  class 
of  females.  The  trim  bodice  and  colored  petticoat,  and  little 
apron,  with  its  pockets  to  receive  the  hands  when  in  an  attitude 
for  conversation  ;  the  colored  kerchief  wound  tastefully  round  the 
head,  with  a  coquettish  knot  perking  above  one  ear;  and  the 
neat  slipper  and  tight  drawn  stocking,  with  its  braid  of  narrow 
ribbon  embracing  the  ancle  where  it  peeps  from  its  mysterious 
curtain.  It  is  from  this  ambush  that  Cupid  sends  his  most  incit 
ing  arrows. 

While  I  was  musing  upon  the  recollections  thus  accidentally 
summoned  up,  I  heard  the  sound  of  a  fiddle  from  the  mansion  of 
Compere  Martin,  the  signal,  no  doubt,  for  a  joyous  gathering.  I 
was  disposed  to  turn  my  steps  thither,  and  witness  the  festivities 
of  one  of  the  very  few  villages  I  had  met  with  in  my  wide  tour, 


THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE.  47 


that  was  yet  poor  enough  to  be  merry ;  but  the  bell  of  the  steam 
boat  summoned  me  to  re-embark. 

As  we  swept  away  from  the  shore,  I  cast  back  a  wistful  eye 
upon  the  moss-grown  roofs  and  ancient  elms  of  the  village,  and 
prayed  that  the  inhabitants  might  long  retain  their  happy  ignorance, 
their  absence  of  all  enterprise  and  improvement,  their  respect  for 
the  fiddle,  and  their  contempt  for  the  almighty  dollar.*  I  fear, 
however,  my  prayer  is  doomed  to  be  of  no  avail.  In  a  little  while, 
the  steamboat  whirled  me  to  an  American  town,  just  springing 
into  bustling  and  prosperous  existence. 

The  surrounding  forest  had  been  laid  out  in  town  lots;  frames 
of  wooden  buildings  were  rising  from  among  stumps  and  burnt 
trees.  The  place  already  boasted  a  court-house,  a  jail,  and  two 
banks,  all  built  of  pine  boards,  on  the  model  of  Grecian  temples. 
There  were  rival  hotels,  rival  churches,  and  rival  newspapers ;  to 
gether  with  the  usual  number  of  judges,  and  generals,  and  gover 
nors  ;  not  to  speak  of  doctors  by  the  dozen,  and  lawyers  by  the 
score. 

The  place,  I  was  told,  was  in  an  astonishing  career  of  improve 
ment,  with  a  canal  and  two  railroads  in  embryo.  Lots  doubled 
in  price  every  week ;  every  body  was  speculating  in  land ;  every 
body  was  rich ;  and  every  body  was  growing  richer.  The  com 
munity,  however,  was  torn  to  pieces  by  new  doctrines  in  religion 


*  This  phrase  used  for  the  first  time,  in  this  sketch,  has  since  passed  into 
current  circulation,  and  by  some  has  been  questioned  as  savoring  of  ir 
reverence.  The  author,  therefore,  owes  it  to  his  orthodoxy  to  declare  that 
no  irreverence  was  intended  even  to  the  dollar  itself;  which  he  is  aware 
is  daily  becoming  more  and  more  an  object  of  worship. 


48  THE  CREOLE  VILLAGE. 


and  in  political  economy ;  there  were  camp  meetings,  and  agrarian 
meetings ;  and  an  election  was  at  hand,  which,  it  was  expected, 
would  throw  the  whole  country  into  a  paroxysm. 

Alas !  with  such  an  enterprising  neighbor,  what  is  to  become 
of  the  poor  little  Creole  village ! 


MOMTJOY: 

OR      SOME     PASSAGES     OUT     OF     THE     LIFE     OF     A 
CASTLE-BUILDER, 

I  WAS  born  among  romantic  scenery,  in  one  of  the  wildest  parts 
of  the  Hudson,  which  at  that  time  was  not  so  thickly  settled  as 
at  present.  My  father  was  descended  from  one  of  the  old  Hu 
guenot  families,  that  came  over  to  this  country  on  the  revocation 
of  the  Edict  of  Nantz.  He  lived  in  a  style  of  easy,  rural  indepen 
dence,  on  a  patrimonial  estate  that  had  been  for  two  or  three  gen^ 
erations  in  the  family.  He  was  an  indolent,  good-natured  man, 
took  the  world  as  it  went,  and  had  a  kind  of  laughing  philos 
ophy,  that  parried  all  rubs  and  mishaps,  and  served  him  in  the 
place  of  wisdom.  This  was  the  part  of  his  character  least  to  my 
taste ;  for  I  was  of  an  enthusiastic,  excitable  temperament,  prone 
to  kindle  up  with  new  schemes  and  projects,  and  he  was  apt  to 
dash  my  sallying  enthusiasm  by  some  unlucky  joke;  so  that 
whenever  I  was  in  a  glow  with  any  sudden  excitement,  I  stood  in 
mortal  dread  of  his  good-humor. 

Yet  he  indulged  me  in  every  vagary ;  for  I  was  an  only  son, 
and  of  course  a  personage  of  importance  in  the  household.     I  had 


50  MOUNTJOY. 


two  sisters  older  than  myself,  and  one  younger.  The  former  were 
educated  at  New  York,  under  the  eye  of  a  maiden  aunt ;  the  lat 
ter  remained  at  home,  and  was  my  cherished  playmate,  the  com 
panion  of  my  thoughts.  We  were  two  imaginative  little  beings, 
of  quick  susceptibility,  and  prone  to  see  wonders  and  mysteries  in 
every  thing  around  us.  Scarce  had  we  learned  to  read,  when  our 
mother  made  us  holiday  presents  of  all  the  nursery  literature  of 
the  day ;  which  at  that  time  consisted  of  little  books  covered  with 
gilt  paper,  adorned  with  "  cuts,"  and  filled  with  tales  of  fairies, 
giants,  and  enchanters.  What  draughts  of  delightful  fiction  did 
we  then  inhale  !  My  sister  Sophy  was  of  a  soft  and  tender  na 
ture.  She  would  weep  over  the  woes  of  the  Children  in  the  Wood, 
or  quake  at  the  dark  romance  of  Blue-Beard,  and  the  terrible 
mysteries  of  the  blue  chamber.  But  I  was  all  for  enterprise  and 
adventure.  I  burned  to  emulate  the  deeds  of  that  heroic  prince, 
who  delivered  the  white  cat  from  her  enchantment ;  or  he  of  no 
less  royal  blood,  and  doughty  emprise,  who  broke  the  charmed 
slumber  of  the  Beauty  in  the  Wood ! 

The  house  in  which  we  lived,  was  just  the  kind  of  place  to 
foster  such  propensities.  It  was  a  venerable  mansion,  half  villa, 
half  farm-house.  The  oldest  part  was  of  stone,  with  loopholes  for 
musketry,  having  served  as  a  family  fortress,  in  the  time  of  the 
Indians;  To  this  there  had  been  made  various  additions,  some 
of  brick,  some  of  wood,  according  to  the  exigencies  of  the  mo 
ment  ;  so  that  it  was  full  of  nooks  and  crooks,  and  chambers  of 
all  sorts  and  sizes.  It  was  buried  among  willows,  elms,  and  cherry 
trees,  and  surrounded  with  roses  and  hollyhocks,  with  honey 
suckle  and  sweetbrier  clambering  about  every  window.  A  brood 
of  hereditary  pigeons  sunned  themselves  upon  the  roof;  hereditary 


MOUNTJOY.  51 


swallows  and  martins  built  about  the  eaves  &xid  chimneys ;  and 
hereditary  bees  hummed  about  the  flower-beds. 

Under  the  influence  of  our  story-books,  eveiy  object  around  us 
now  assumed  a  new  character,  and  a  charmed  interest.  The  wild 
flowers  were  no  longer  the  mere  ornaments  of  the  fields,  or  the 
resorts  of  the  toilful  bee ;  they  were  the  lurking-places  of  fairies. 
We  would  watch  the  humming-bird,  as  it  hovered  around  the 
trumpet  creeper  at  our  porch,  and  the  butterfly  as  it  flitted  up 
into  the  blue  air,  above  the  sunny  tree  tops,  and  fancy  them  some 
of  the  tiny  beings  from  fairy  land.  I  would  call  to  mind  all  that 
I  had  read  of  Robin  Goodfellow,  and  his  power  of  transformation. 
0  how  I  envied  him  that  power !  How  I  longed  to  be  able  to 
compress  my  form  into  utter  littleness ;  to  ride  the  bold  dragon 
fly;  swing  on  the  tall  bearded  grass;  follow  the  ant  into  his  sub 
terraneous  habitation,  or  dive  into  the  cavernous  depths  of  the 
honeysuckle ! 

While  I  was  yet  a  mere  child,  I  was  sent  to  a  daily  school 
about  two  miles  distant.  The  school-house  was  on  the  edge  of  a 
wood,  close  by  a  brook  overhung  with  birches,  alders,  and  dwart 
willows.  We  of  the  school  who  lived  at  some  distance,  came  with 
our  dinners  put  up  in  little  baskets.  In  the  intervals  of  school 
hours,  we  would  gather  round  a  spring,  under  a  tuft  of  hazel- 
bushes,  and  have  a  kind  of  picnic;  interchanging  the  rustic 
dainties  with  which  our  provident  mothers  had  fitted  us  out. 
Then,  when  our  joyous  repast  was  over,  and  my  companions  were 
disposed  for  play,  I  would  draw  forth  one  of  my  cherished  story 
books,  stretch  myself  on  the  greensward,  and  soon  lose  myself  in 
its  bewitching  contents. 

I  became  an  oracle  among  my  school-mates,  on  account  of  my 


52  MOUOTJOY. 


superior  erudition,  and  soon  imparted  to  them  the  contagion  of  my 
infected  fancy.  Often  in  the  evening,  after  school  hours,  we 
would  sit  on  the  trunk  of  some  fallen  tree  in  the  woods,  and  vie 
with  each  other  in  telling  extravagant  stories,  until  the  whip-poor- 
will  began  his  nightly  moaning,  and  the  fire-flies  sparkled  in  the 
gloom.  Then  came  the  perilous  journey  homeward.  What  de 
light  we  would  take  in  getting  up  wanton  panics,  in  some  dusky 
part  of  the  wood ;  scampering  like  frightened  deer ;  pausing  to 
take  breath ;  renewing  the  panic,  and  scampering  off  again,  wild 
with  fictitious  terror ! 

Our  greatest  trial  was  to  pass  a  dark,  lonely  pool,  covered 
with  pond-lilies,  peopled  with  bull-frogs  and  water  snakes,  and 
haunted  by  two  white  cranes.  Oh !  the  terrors  of  that  pond ! 
HOW  our  little  hearts  would  beat,  as  we  approached  it;  what 
fearful  glances  we  would  throw  around !  And  if  by  chance  a 
plash  of  a  wild  duck,  or  the  guttural  twang  of  a  bull-frog,  struck 
our  ears,  as  we  stole  quietly  by — away  we  sped,  nor  paused  until 
completely  out  of  the  woods.  Then,  when  I  reached  home,  what 
a  world  of  adventures,  and  imaginary  terrors,  would  I  have  to  re 
late  to  my  sister  Sophy ! 

As  I  advanced  in  years,  this  turn  of  mind  increased  upon  me, 
and  became  more  confirmed.  I  abandoned  myself  to  the  impulses 
of  a  romantic  imagination,  which  controlled  my  studies,  and  gave 
a  bias  to  all  my  habits.  My  father  observed  me  continually  with 
a  book  in  my  hand,  and  satisfied  himself  that  I  was  a  profound 
student ;  but  what  were  my  studies  ?  Works  of  fiction ;  tales  of 
chivalry ;  voyages  of  discovery ;  travels  in  the  east ;  every  thing, 
in  short,  that  partook  of  adventure  and  romance.  I  well  remem 
ber  with  what  zest  I  entered  upon  that  part  of  my  studies  which 


MOUNTJOY.  53 


treated  of  the  heathen  mythology,  and  particularly  of  the  sylvan 
deities.  Then  indeed  my  school-books  became  dear  to  me.  The 
neighborhood  was  well  calculated  to  foster  the  reveries  of  a  mind 
like  mine.  It  abounded  with  solitary  retreats,  wild  streams, 
solemn  forests,  and  silent  valleys.  I  would  ramble  about  for  a  whole 
day,  with  a  volume  of  Ovid's  Metamorphoses  in  my  pocket,  and 
work  myself  into  a  kind  of  self-delusion,  so  as  to  identify  the  sur 
rounding  scenes  with  those  of  which  I  had  just  been  reading.  I 
would  loiter  about  a  brook  that  glided  through  the  shadowy  depths 
of  the  forest,  picturing  it  to  myself  the  haunt  of  Naiades.  I  would 
steal  round  some  bushy  copse  that  opened  upon  a  glade,  as  if  I 
expected  to  come  suddenly  upon  Diana  and  her  nymphs ;  or  to 
behold  Pan  and  his  satyrs  bounding,  with  whoop  and  halloo, 
through  the  woodland.  I  would  throw  myself,  during  the  panting 
heats  of  a  summer  noon,  under  the  shade  of  some  wide-spreading 
tree,  and  muse  and  dream  away  the  hours,  in  a  state  of  mental 
intoxication.  I  drank  in  the  very  light  of  day,  as  nectar,  and  my 
soul  seemed  to  bathe  with  ecstasy  in  the  deep  blue  of  a  summer 
sky. 

In  these  wanderings,  nothing  occurred  to  jar  my  feelings,  or 
bring  me  back  to  the  realities  of  life.  There  is  a  repose  in  our 
mighty  forests,  that  gives  full  scope  to  the  imagination.  Now 
and  then  I  would  hear  the  distant  sound  of  the  wood-cutter's  axe, 
or  the  crash  of  some  tree  which  he  had  laid  low ;  but  these  noises, 
echoing  along  the  quiet  landscape,  could  easily  be  wrought  by  fancy 
into  harmony  with  its  illusions.  In  general,  however,  the  woody 
recesses  of  the  neighborhood  were  peculiarly  wild  and  unfre 
quented.  I  could  ramble  for  a  whole  day,  without  coming  upon 
any  traces  of  cultivation.  The  partridge  of  the  wood  scarcely 


54  MOUNTJOY. 


seemed  to  shun  my  path,  and  the  squirrel,  from  his  nut-tree, 
would  gaze  at  me  for  an  instant,  with  sparkling  eye,  as  if  wonder 
ing  at  the  unwonted  intrusion. 

I  cannot  help  dwelling  on  this  delicious  period  of  my  life ; 
when  as  yet  I  had  known  no  sorrow,  nor  experienced  any  worldly 
care.  I  have  since  studied  much,  both  of  books  and  men,  and  of 
course  have  grown  too  wise  to  be  so  easily  pleased ;  yet  with  all 
my  wisdom,  I  must  confess  I  look  back  with  a  secret  feeling  of 
regret  to  the  days  of  happy  ignorance,  before  I  had  begun  to  be  a 
philosopher. 


It  must  be  evident  that  I  was  in  a  hopeful  training,  for  one 
who  was  to  descend  into  the  arena  of  life,  and  wrestle  with  the 
world.  The  tutor,  also,  who  superintended  my  studies,  in  the 
more  advanced  stage  of  my  education,  was  just  fitted  to  complete 
the  fata  morgana  which  was  forming  in  my  mind.  His  name 
was  Glencoe.  He  was  a  pale,  melancholy-looking  man,  about 
forty  years  of  age ;  a  native  of  Scotland,  liberally  educated,  and 
who  had  devoted  himself  to  the  instruction  of  youth,  from  taste 
rather  than  necessity ;  for,  as  he  said,  he  loved  the  human  heart, 
and  delighted  to  study  it  in  its  earlier  impulses.  My  two  elder 
sisters,  having  returned  home  from  a  city  boarding-school,  were 
likewise  placed  under  his  care,  to  direct  their  reading  in  history 
and  belles-lettres. 

We  all  soon  became  attached  to  Grlencoe.  It  is  true,  we  were 
at  first  somewhat  prepossessed  against  him.  His  meagre,  pallid 
countenance,  his  broad  pronunciation,  his  inattention  to  the  little 
forms  of  society,  and  an  awkward  and  embarrassed  manner,  on 


MOUNTJOY.  55 


first  acquaintance,  were  much  against  him ;  but  we  soon  discovered 
that  under  this  unpromising  exterior  existed  the  kindest  ur 
banity  ;  the  warmest  sympathies ;  the  most  enthusiastic  benev 
olence.  His  mind  was  ingenious  and  acute.  His  reading  had 
been  various,  but  more  abstruse  than  profound :  his  memory  was 
stored,  on  all  subjects,  with  facts,  theories,  and  quotations,  and 
crowded  with  crude  materials  for  thinking.  These,  in  a  moment 
of  excitement,  would  be,  as  it  were,  melted  down,  and  poured 
forth  in  the  lava  of  a  heated  imagination.  At  such  moments,  the 
change  in  the  whole  man  was  wonderful.  His  meagre  form  would 
acquire  a  dignity  and  grace ;  his  long,  pale  visage  would  flash 
with  a  hectic  glow  ;  his  eyes  would  beam  with  intense  speculation ; 
and  there  would  be  pathetic  tones  and  deep  modulations  in  his 
voice,  that  delighted  the  ear,  and  spoke  movingly  to  the  heart. 

But  what  most  endeared  him  to  us,  was  the  kindness  and 
sympathy  with  which  he  entered  into  all  our  interests  and  wishes. 
Instead  of  curbing  and  checking  our  young  imaginations  with  the 
reins  of  sober  reason,  he  was  a  little  too  apt  to  catch  the  impulse, 
and  be  hurried  away  with  us.  He  could  not  withstand  the  excite 
ment  of  any  sally  of  feeling  or  fancy  ;  and  was  prone  to  lend 
heightening  tints  to  the  illusive  coloring  of  youthful  anticipation. 

Under  his  guidance,  my  sisters  and  myself  soon  entered  .upon 
a  more  extended  range  of  studies ;  but  while  they  wandered,  with 
delighted  minds,  through  the  wide  field  of  history  and  belles-let 
tres,  a  nobler  walk  was  opened  to  my  superior  intellect. 

The  mind  of  Grlencoe  presented  a  singular  mixture  of  philoso 
phy  and  poetry.  He  was  fond  of  metaphysics,  and  prone  to  in 
dulge  in  abstract  speculations,  though  his  metaphysics  were  some 
what  fine  spun  and  fanciful,  and  his  speculations  were  apt  to  par- 


66  MOUNTJOY. 

take  of  what  my  father  most  irreverently  termed  "  humbug."  For 
my  part,  I  delighted  in  them;  and  the  more  especially,  because 
they  set  my  father  to  sleep,  and  completely  confounded  my  sis 
ters.  I  entered,  with  my  accustomed  eagerness,  into  this  new 
branch  of  study.  Metaphysics  were  now  my  passion.  My  sisters 
attempted  to  accompany  me,  but  they  soon  faltered,  and  gave  out 
before  they  had  got  half  way  through  Smith's  Theory  of  Mo 
ral  Sentiments.  I,  however,  went  on,  exulting  in  my  strength. 
Glencoe  supplied  me  with  books,  and  I  devoured  them  with  appe 
tite,  if  not  digestion.  We  walked  and  talked  together  under  the 
trees  before  the  house,  or  sat  apart,  like  Milton's  angels,  and 
held  high  converse  upon  themes  beyond  the  grasp  of  ordinary  in 
tellects.  Glencoe  possessed  a  kind  of  philosophic  chivalry  ^  in  im 
itation  of  the  old  peripatetic  sages,  and  was  continually  dreaming 
of  romantic  enterprises  in  morals,  and  splendid  systems  for  the 
improvement  of  society.  He  had  a  fanciful  mode  of  illustrating 
abstract  subjects,  peculiarly  to  my  taste  ;  clothing  them  with  the 
language  of  poetry,  and  throwing  round  them  almost  the  magic 
hues  of  fiction.  "  How  charming^"  thought  I,  "  is  divine  philoso 
phy  ;  "  not  harsh  and  crabbed,  as  dull  fools  suppose, 

"  But  a  perpetual  feast  of  nectar'd  sweets, 
Where  no  crude  surfeit  reigns." 

I  felt  a  wonderful  self-complacency  at  being  on  such  excellent 
terms  with  a  man  whom  I  considered  on  a  parallel  with  the  sages 
of  antiquity,  and  looked  down  with  a  sentiment  of  pity  on  the 
feebler  intellects  of  my  sisters,  who  could  comprehend  nothing  of 
metaphysics.  It  is  true,  when  I  attempted  to  study  them  by  my 
self  I  was  apt  to  get  in  a  fog ;  but  when  Glencoe  came  to  my  aid, 


MOUNTJOY.  57 


every  thing  was  soon  as  clear  to  me  as  day.  My  ear  drank  in  the 
beauty  of  his  words  ;  my  imagination  was  dazzled  with  the  splen- 

* 

dor  of  his  illustrations.  It  caught  up  the  sparkling-  sands  of  poe 
try  that  glittered  through  his  speculations,  and  mistook  them  for 
the  golden  ore  of  wisdom.  Struck  with  the  facility  with  which  I 
seemed  to  imbibe  and  relish  the  most  abstract  doctrines,  I  con 
ceived  a  still  higher  opinion  of  my  mental  powers,  and  was  con 
vinced  that  I  also  was  a  philospher. 


I  was  now  verging  toward  man's  estate,  and  though  my  edu 
cation  had  been  extremely  irregular — following  the  caprices  of  my 
humor,  which  I  mistook  for  the  impulses  of  my  genius — yet  I  was 
regarded  with  wonder  and  delight  by  my  mother  and  sisters,  who 
considered  me  almost  as  wise  and  infallible  as  I  considered  myself. 
This  high  opinion  of  me  was  strengthened  by  a  declamatory  hab 
it,  which  made  me  an  oracle  and  orator  at  the  domestic  board. 
The  time  was  now  at  hand,  however,  that  was  to  put  my  philoso 
phy  to  the  test. 

We  had  passed  through  a  long  winter,  and  the  spring  at  length 
opened  upon  us,  with  unusual  sweetness.  The  soft  serenity  of  the 
weather ;  the  beauty  of  the  surrounding  country ;  the  joyous  notes 
of  the  birds ;  the  balmy  breath  of  flower  and  blossom,  all  com 
bined  to  fill  my  bosom  with  indistinct  sensations,  and  nameless 
wishes.  Amid  the  soft  seductions  of  the  season,  I  lapsed  into  a 
state  of  utter  indolence,  both  of  body  and  mind. 

Philosophy  had  lost  its  charms  for  me.  Metaphysics — faugh ! 
I  tried  to  study ;  took  down  volume  after  volume,  ran  my  eye  va 
cantly  over  a  few  pages,  and  threw  them  by  with  distaste.  I  loi- 
3* 


68  MOUNTJOY. 


tered  about  the  house,  with  my  hands  in  my  pockets,  and  an  air 
of  complete  vacancy.     Something  was  necessary  to  make  me  hap- 
pf ;  but  what  was  that  something  !     I  sauntered  to  the  apart 
nients  of  my  sisters,  hoping  their  conversation  might  amuse  me. 
They  had  walked  out,  and  the  room  was  vacant.     On  the  table 
lay  a  volume  which  they  had  been  reading.     It  was  a  novel.     I 
had  never  read  a  novel,  having  conceived  a  contempt  for  works  of 
the  kind,  from  hearing  them  universally  condemned.     It  is  true, 
I  had  remarked  they  were  universally  read;   but  I  considered 
them  beneath  the   attention  of  a  philosopher,  and  never  would 
venture  to  read  them,  lest  I  should  lessen  my  mental  superiority 
in  the  eyes  of  my  sisters.     Nay,  I  had  taken  up  a  work  of  the 
kind,  now  and  then,  when  I  knew  my  sisters  were  observing  me, 
looked  into  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  laid  it  down,  with  a  slight 
supercilious  smile.     On  the  present  occasion,  out  of  mere  listless- 
ness,  I  took  up  the  volume,  and  turned  over  a  few  of  the  first 
pages.     I  thought  I  heard  some  one  coming,  and  laid  it  down.     I 
was  mistaken ;  no  one  was  near,  and  what  I  had  read,  tempted  my 
curiosity  to  read  a  little  farther.     I  leaned  against  a  window-frame, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  was  completely  lost  in  the  story.     How 
long  I  stood  there  reading,  I  know  not,  but  I  believe  for  nearly 
two  hours.     Suddenly  I  heard  my  sisters  on  the  stairs,  when  I 
thrust  the  book  into  my  bosom,  and  the  two  other  volumes,  which 
lay  near,  into  my  pockets,   and  hurried  out  of  the  house  to  my 
beloved  woods.     Here  I  remained  all  day  beneath  the  trees,  be 
wildered,   bewitched;  devouring  the  contents  of  these  delicious 
volumes  ;  and  only  returned  to  the  house  when  it  was  too  dark  to 
peruse  their  pages. 

This  novel  finished,  I  replaced  it  in  my  sister's  apartment,  and 


MOUNTJOY.  59 


looked  for  others.  Their  stock  was  ample,  for  they  had  brought 
home  all  that  were  current  in  the  city;  but  my  appetite  demanded 
an  immense  supply.  All  this  course  of  reading  was  carried  on 
clandestinely,  for  I  was  a  little  ashamed  of  it,  and  fearful  that  iny 
wisdom  might  be  called  in  question ;  but  this  very  privacy  gave  it 
additional  zest.  It  was  "bread  eaten  in  secret; "  it  had  the  charm 
of  a  private  amour. 

But  think  what  must  have  been  the  effect  of  such  a  course  of 
reading  on  a  youth  of  my  temperament  and  turn  of  mind ;  in 
dulged,  too,  amidst  romantic  scenery,  and  in  the  romantic  season  of 
the  year.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  entered  upon  a  new  scene  of  ex 
istence.  A  train  of  combustible  feelings  were  lighted  up  in  me, 
and  my  soul  was  all  tenderness  and  passion.  Never  was  youth 
more  completely  love -sick,  though  as  yet  it  was  a  mere  general 
sentiment,  and  wanted  a  definite  object.  Unfortunately,  our 
neighborhood  was  particularly  deficient  in  female  society,  and  I 
languished  in  vain  for  some  divinity,  to  whom  I  might  offer  up 
this  most  uneasy  burthen  of  affections.  I  was  at  one  time  seri 
ously  enamored  of  a  lady  whom  I  saw  occasionally  in  my  rides, 
reading  at  the  window  of  a  country-seat ;  and  actually  serenaded 
her  with  my  flute ;  when,  to  my  confusion,  I  discovered  that  she 
was  old  enough  to  be  my  mother.  It  was  a  sad  damper  to  my 
romance;  especially  as  my  father  heard  of  it,  and  made  it  the 
subject  of  one  of  those  household  jokes,  which  he  was  apt  to  serve 
up  at  every  meal- time. 

I  soon  recovered  from  this  check,  however,  but  it  was  only  to 
relapse  into  a  state  of  amorous  excitement.  I  passed  whole  days 
in  the  fields,  and  along  the  brooks ;  for  there  is  something  in  the 
tender  passion  that  makes  us  alive  to  the  beauties  of  nature.  A 


60  MOUNTJOY. 


soft  sunshine  morning  infused  a  sort  of  rapture  into  my  breast, 
I  flung  open  my  arms,  like  the  Grecian  youth  in  Ovid,  as  if  I 
would  take  in  and  embrace  the  balmy  atmosphere.*  The  song 
of  the  birds  melted  me  to  tenderness.  I  would  lie  by  the  side  of 
some  rivulet,  for  hours,  and  form  garlands  of  the  flowers  on  its 
banks,  and  muse  on  ideal  beauties,  and  sigh  from  the  crowd  of 
undefined  emotions  that  swelled  my  bosom. 

In  this  state  of  amorous  delirium,  I  was  strolling  one  morning 
along  a  beautiful  wild  brook  which  I  had  discovered  in  a  glen. 
There  was  one  place  where  a  small  water-fall,  leaping  from  among 
rocks  into  a  natural  basin,  made  a  scene  such  as  a  poet  might 
have  chosen  as  the  haunt  of  some  shy  Naiad.  It  was  here  I 
usually  retired  to  banquet  on  my  novels.  In  visiting  the  place 
this  morning,  I  traced  distinctly,  on  the  margin  of  the  basin7 
which  was  of  fine  clear  sand,  the  prints  of  a  female  foot,  of  the 
most  slender  and  delicate  proportions.  This  was  sufficient  for  an 
imagination  like  mine.  Robinson  Crusoe  himself,  when  he  dis 
covered  the  print  of  a  savage  foot  on  the  beach  of  his  lonely 
island,  could  not  have  been  more  suddenly  assailed  with  thick- 
coming  fancies. 

I  endeavored  to  track  the  steps,  but  they  only  passed  for  a 
few  paces  along  the  fine  sand,  and  then  were  lost  among  the  herb 
age.  I  remained  gazing  in  reverie  upon  this  passing  trace  of 
loveliness.  It  evidently  was  not  made  by  any  of  my  sisters,  for 
they  knew  nothing  of  this  haunt ;  besides,  the  foot  was  smaller 
than  theirs ;  it  was  remarkable  for  its  beautiful  delicacy. 

My  eye  accidentally  caught  two  or  three  half-withered  wild 

*  Ovid's  Metamorphoses,  Book  vii. 


MOTJNTJOY.  61 


flowers,  lying  on  the  ground.  The  unknown  nymph  had  doubtless 
dropped  them  from  her  bosom !  Here  was  a  new  document  of 
taste  and  sentiment.  I  treasured  them  up  as  invaluable  relics. 
The  place,  too,  where  I  found  them,  was  remarkably  picturesque, 
and  the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  brook.  It  was  overhung  with 
a  fine  elm,  entwined  with  grape-vines.  She  who  could  select  such 
a  spot,  who  could  delight  in  wild  brooks,  and  wild  flowers,  and 
silent  solitudes,  must  have  fancy,  and  feeling,  and  tenderness; 
and  with  all  these  qualities,  she  must  be  beautiful ! 

But  who  could  be  this  Unknown,  that  had  thus  passed  by,  as 
in  a  morning  dream,  leaving  merely  flowers  and  fairy  footsteps,  to 
tell  of  her  loveliness  !  There  was  a  mystery  in  it  that  bewildered 
me.  It  was  so  vague  and  disembodied,  like  those  "  airy  tongues 
that  syllable  men's  names  "  in  solitude.  Every  attempt  to  solve 
the  mystery  was  vain.  I  could  hear  of  no  being  in  the  neighbor 
hood  to  whom  this  trace  could  be  ascribed.  I  haunted  the  spot, 
and  became  more  and  more  enamored.  Never,  surely,  was  pas 
sion  more  pure  and  spiritual,  and  never  lover  in  more  dubious 
situation.  My  case  could  only  be  compared  with  that  of  the 
amorous  prince,  in  the  fairy  tale  of  Cinderella ;  but  he  had  a 
glass  slipper  on  which  to  lavish  his  tenderness.  I,  alas !  was  in 
love  with  a  footstep  ! 


The  imagination  is  alternately  a  cheat  and  a  dupe ;  nay  more, 
it  is  the  most  subtle  of  cheats,  for  it  cheats  itself,  and  becomes 
the  dupe  of  its  own  delusions.  It  conjures  up  "  airy  nothings," 
gives  to  them  a  "  local  habitation  and  a  name,"  and  then  bows  to 
their  control  as  implicitly  as  if  they  were  realities.  Such  was 


62  MOUNTJOY. 


now  my  case.  The  good  Numa  could  not  more  thoroughly  have 
persuaded  himself  that  the  nymph  Egeria  hovered  about  her 
sacred  fountain,  and  communed  with  him  in  spirit,  than  I  had 
deceived  myself  into  a  kind  of  visionary  intercourse  with  the  airy 
phantom  fabricated  in  my  brain.  I  constructed  a  rustic  seat  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree  where  I  had  discovered  the  footsteps.  I  made 
a  kind  of  bower  there,  where  I  used  to  pass  my  mornings,  read 
ing  poetry  and  romances.  I  carved  hearts  and  darts  on  the  tree, 
and  hung  it  with  garlands.  My  heart  was  full  to  overflowing, 
and  wanted  some  faithful  bosom  into  which  it  might  relieve  itself. 
What  is  a  lover  without  a  confidante  ?  I  thought  at  once  of  my 
sister  Sophy,  my  early  playmate,  the  sister  of  my  affections.  She 
was  so  reasonable,  too,  and  of  such  correct  feelings,  always  listen 
ing  to  my  words  as  oracular  sayings,  and  admiring  my  scraps  of 
poetry,  as  the  very  inspirations  of  the  muse.  From  such  a  devot 
ed,  such  a  rational  being,  what  secrets  could  I  have  ? 

I  accordingly  took  her,  one  morning,  to  my  favorite  retreat. 
She  looked  around,  with  delighted  surprise,  upon  the  rustic  seat, 
the  bower,  the  tree  carved  with  emblems  of  the  tender  passion. 
She  turned  her  eyes  upon  me  to  inquire  the  meaning. 

"  Oh,  Sophy,"  exclaimed  I,  clasping  both  her  hands  in  mine, 
and  looking  earnestly  in  her  face,  "  I  am  in  love  !  " 

She  started  with  surprise. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  I,  «  and  I  will  tell  you  all." 

She  seated  herself  upon  the  rustic  bench,  and  I  went  into  a 
full  history  of  the  footstep,  with  all  the  associations  of  idea  that 
had  been  conjured  up  by  my  imagination. 

Sophy  was  enchanted ;  it  was  like  a  fairy  tale  :  She  had  read 
of  such  mysterious  visitations  in  books,  and  the  loves  thus  con- 


MOUNTJOY.  63 


ceived  were  always  for  beings  of  superior  order,  and  were  always 
happy.  She  caught  the  illusion,  in  all  its  force  ;  her  cheek  glow 
ed  ;  her  eye  brightened. 

"  I  dare  say  she's  pretty,"  said  Sophy. 

"  Pretty  !  "  echoed  I,  "  she  is  beautiful !  "  I  went  through  all 
the  reasoning  by  which  I  had  logically  proved  the  fact  to  my  own 
satisfaction.  I  dwelt  upon  the  evidences  of  her  taste,  her  sensi 
bility  to  the  beauties  of  nature ;  her  soft  meditative  habit,  that 
delighted  in  solitude  ;  "  oh,"  said  I,  clasping  my  hands  "  to  have 
such  a  companion  to  wander  through  these  scenes ;  to  sit  with  her 
by  this  murmuring  stream ;  to  wreathe  garlands  round  her  brows ; 
to  hear  the  music  of  her  voice  mingling  with  the  whisperings  of 
these  groves  ; " 

"  Delightful !  delightful ! "  cried  Sophy;  "  what  a  sweet  creature 
she  must  be !  She  is  just  the  friend  I  want.  How  I  shall  dote 
upon  her  !  Oh,  my  dear  brother  !  you  must  not  keep  her  all  to 
yourself.  You  must  let  me  have  some  share  of  her  !" 

I  caught  her  to  my  bosom :  "  You  shall — you  shall !  "  cried  I, 
"  my  dear  Sophy ;  we  will  all  live  for  each  other  ! " 


The  conversation  with  Sophy  heightened  the  illusions  of  my 
mind ;  and  the  manner  in  which  she  had  treated  my  day-dream, 
identified  it  with  facts  and  persons,  and  gave  it  still  more  the 
stamp  of  reality.  I  walked  about  as  one  in  a  trance,  heedless  of 
the  world  around,  and  lapped  in  an  elysium  of  the  fancy. 

In  this  mood  I  met,  one  morning,  with  Glencoe.  He  accosted 
me  with  his  usual  smile,  and  was  proceeding  with  some  general  ob 
servations,  but  paused  and  fixed  on  me  an  inquiring  eye. 


64  MOUNTJOF. 


"  What  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  you  seem  agitated, 
has  any  thing  in  particular  happened  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  said  I,  hesitating ;  "  at  least  nothing  worth  commu 
nicating  to  you." 

"  Nay,  my  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  "  whatever  is  of  sufficient 
importance  to  agitate  you,  is  worthy  of  being  communicated  to  me." 

"  Well ;  but  my  thoughts  are  running  on  what  you  wo  aid 
think  a  frivolous  subject." 

"  No  subject  is  frivolous,  that  has  the  power  to  awaken  strong 
feelings." 

"  What  think  you,"  said  I,  hesitating,  "what  think  you  of  love  ?  " 

Grlencoe  almost  started  at  the  question.  "  Do  you  call  that  a 
frivolous  subject  ?  "  replied  he.  "  Believe  me,  there  is  none  fraught 
with  such  deep,  such  vital  interest.  If  you  talk,  indeed,  of  the 
capricious  inclination  awakened  by  the  mere  charm  of  perishable 
beauty,  I  grant  it  to  be  idle  in  the  extreme ;  but  that  love  which 
springs  from  the  concordant  sympathies  of  virtuous  hearts  ;  that 
love  which  is  awakened  by  the  perception  of  moral  excellence,  and 
fed  by  meditation  on  intellectual  as  well  as  personal  beauty ;  that 
is  a  passion  which  refines  and  ennobles  the  human  heart.  Oh, 
where  is  there  a  sight  more  nearly  approaching  to  the  intercourse 
of  angels,  than  that  of  two  young  beings,  free  from  the  sins  and 
follies  of  the  world,  mingling  pure  thoughts,  and  looks,  and  feel 
ings,  and  becoming  as  it  were  soul  of  one  soul,  and  heart  of  one 
heart !  How  exquisite  the  silent  converse  that  they  hold ;  the 
soft  devotion  of  the  eye,  that  needs  no  words  to  make  it  eloquent! 
Yes,  my  friend,  if  there  be  any  thing  in  this  weary  world  worthy 
of  heaven,  it  is  the  pure  bliss  of  such  a  mutual  affection  !  " 

The  words  of  my  worthy  tutor  overcame  all  farther  reserve 
"  Mr.  Gleucoe,"  cried  I,  blushing  still  deeper,  "I  am  in  love !  " 


MOUNTJOY.  65 


"  And  is  that  wliat  you  were  ashamed  to  tell  me  ?  Oh,  never 
seek  to  conceal  from  your  friend  so  important  a  secret.  If  your 
passion  be  unworthy,  it  is  for  the  steady  hand  of  friendship  to 
pluck  it  forth ;  if  honorable,  none  but  an  enemy  would  seek  to 
stifle  it.  On  nothing  does  the  character  and  happiness  so  much 
depend,  as  on  the  first  affection  of  the  heart.  Were  you  caught 
by  some  fleeting  and  superficial  charm — &  bright  eye,  a  blooming 
cheek,  a  soft  voice,  or  a  voluptuous  form — I  would  warn  you  to 
beware ;  I  would  tell  you  that  beauty  is  but  a  passing  gleam  of 
the  morning,  a  perishable  flower ;  that  accident  may  becloud 
and  blight  it,  and  that  at  best  it  must  soon  pass  away.  But  were 
you  in  love  with  such  a  one  as  I  could  describe  ;  young  in  years, 
but  still  younger  in  feelings ;  lovely  in  person,  but  as  a  type  of 
the  mind's  beauty  ;  soft  in  voice,  in  token  of  gentleness  of  spirit ; 
blooming  in  countenance,  like  the  rosy  tints  of  morning  kindling 
with  the  promise  of  a  genial  day  ;  an  eye  beaming  with  the  benig 
nity  of  a  happy  heart ;  a  cheerful  temper,  alive  to  all  kind  impul 
ses,  and  frankly  diffusing  its  own  felicity ;  a  self-poised  mind, 
that  needs  not  lean  on  others  for  support ;  an  elegant  taste,  that 
can  embellish  solitude,  and  furnish  out  its  own  enjoyments " 

"  My  dear  sir,"  cried  I,  for  I  could  contain  myself  no  longer, 
"  you  have  described  the  very  person  1 " 

"  Why  then,  my  dear  young  friend,"  said  he,  affectionately 
pressing  my  hand,  "in  God's  name,  love  on  !  " 


For  the  remainder  of  the  day,  I  was  in  some  such  state  of 
dreamy  beatitude  as  a  Turk  is  said  to  enjoy,  when  under  the  in 
fluence  of  opium.  It  must  be  already  manifest,  how  prone  I  was 


66  MOUNTJOY. 


to  bewilder  myself  with  picturings  of  the  fancy,  so  as  to  confound 
them  with  existing  realities.  In  the  present  instance,  Sophy  and 
Glencoe  had  contributed  to  promote  the  transient  delusion.  So 
phy,  dear  girl,  had  as  usual  joined  with  me  in  my  castle-building, 
and  indulged  in  the  same  train  of  imaginings,  while  Glencoe,  dup 
ed  by  my  enthusiasm,  firmly  believed  that  I  spoke  of  a  being  I  had 
seen  and  known.  By  their  sympathy  with  my  feelings,  they  in  a 
manner  became  associated  with  the  Unknown  in  my  mind,  and 
thus  linked  her  with  the  circle  of  my  intimacy. 

In  the  evening,  our  family  party  was  assembled  in  the  hall,  to 
enjoy  the  refreshing  breeze.  Sophy  was  playing  some  favorite 
Scotch  airs  on  the  piano,  while  Glencoe,  seated  apart,  with  his 
forehead  resting  on  his  hand,  was  buried  in  one  of  those  pensive 
reveries,  that  made  him  so  interesting  to  me. 

"  What  a  fortunate  being  I  am  !  "  thought  I,  "  blessed  with 
such  a  sister  and  such  a  friend  !  I  have  only  to  find  out  this 
amiable  Unknown,  to  wed  her,  and  be  happy  !  What  a  paradise 
will  be  my  home,  graced  with  a  partner  of  such  exquisite  refine 
ment  !  It  will  be  a  perfect  fairy  bower,  buried  among  sweets 
and  roses.  Sophy  shall  live  with  us,  and  be  the  companion  of  all 
our  enjoyments.  Glencoe,  too,  shall  no  more  be  the  solitary  being 
that  he  now  appears.  He  shall  have  a  home  with  us.  He  shall 
have  his  study,  where,  when  he  pleases,  he  may  shut  himself  up 
from  the  world,  and  bury  himself  in  his  own  reflections.  His  re 
treat  shall  be  held  sacred  ;  no  one  shall  intrude  there  ;  no  one 
but  myself,  who  will  visit  him  now  and  then,  in  his  seclusion, 
where  we  will  devise  grand  schemes  together  for  the  improvement 
of  mankind.  How  delightfully  our  days  will  pass,  in  a  round  of 
rational  pleasures  and  elegant  employments  !  Sometimes  we  will 


MOUNTJOY.  67 


have  music ;  sometimes  we  will  read ;  sometimes  we  will  wander 
through  the  flower-garden,  when  I  will  smile  with  complacency  on 
every  flower  my  wife  has  planted ;  while  in  the  long  winter  even 
ings,  the  ladies  will  sit  at  their  work  and  listen,  with  hushed  at 
tention,  to  Glencoe  and  myself,  as  we  discuss  the  abstruse  doc 
trines  of  metaphysics." 

From  this  delectable  reverie,  I  was  startled  by  my  father's 
slapping  me  on  the  shoulder  :  "  What  possesses  the  lad  ?  "  cried 
he  :  "  here  have  I  been  speaking  to  you  half  a  dozen  times,  with 
out  receiving  an  answer." 

"Pardon  me,  sir,"  replied  I;  "I  was  so  completely  lost  in 
thought,  that  I  did  not  hear  you." 

"  Lost  in  thought !  And  pray  what  were  you  thinking  of? 
Some  of  your  philosophy,  I  suppose." 

"  Upon  my  word,"  said  my  sister  Charlotte,  with  an  arch  laugh, 
"  I  suspect  Harry's  in  love  again." 

"  And  if  I  were  in  love,  Charlotte,"  said  I,  somewhat  nettled, 
and  recollecting  Glencoe's  enthusiastic  eulogy  of  the  passion,  "  if 
I  were  in  love,  is  that  a  matter  of  jest  and  laughter  ?  Is  the  ten- 
derest  and  most  fervid  affection  that  can  animate  the  human 
breast,  to  be  made  a  matter  of  cold-hearted  ridicule  ?  " 

My  sister  colored.  "  Certainly  not,  brother ! — nor  did  I  mean 
to  make  it  so,  nor  to  say  any  thing  that  should  wound  your  feel 
ings.  Had  I  really  suspected  that  you  had  formed  some  genuine 
attachment,  it  would  have  been  sacred  in  my  eyes ;  but — but," 
said  she,  smiling,  as  if  at  some  whimsical  recollection,  "  I  thought 
that  you — you  might  be  indulging  in  another  little  freak  of  the 
imagination." 

"  I'll  wager  any  money,"  cried  my  father,  "  he  has  fallen  in  love 
again  with  some  old  lady  at  a  window  !  " 


68  MOUNTJOY. 


"  Oh  no !  "  cried  my  dear  sister  Sophy,  with  the  most  gracious 
warmth  •  "  she  is  young  and  beautiful." 

"  From  what  I  understand,"  said  Glencoe,  rousing  himself, 
"  she  must  be  lovely  in  mind  as  in  person." 

I  found  my  friends  were  getting  me  into  a  fine  scrape.  I  be 
gan  to  perspire  at  every  pore,  and  felt  my  ears  tingle. 

"  Well,  but,"  cried  my  father,  "who  is  she? — what  is  she? 
Let  us  hear  something  about  her." 

This  was  no  time  to  explain  so  delicate  a  matter.  I  caught 
up  my  hat,  and  vanished  out  of  the  house. 

The  moment  I  was  in  the  open  air,  and  alone,  my  heart  up 
braided  me.  Was  this  respectful  treatment  to  my  father — to  such 
a  father  too — who  had  always  regarded  me  as  the  pride  of  his 
age — the  staff  of  his  hopes  ?  It  is  true,  he  was  apt,  sometimes, 
to  laugh  at  my  enthusiastic  flights,  and  did  not  treat  my  philoso 
phy  with  due  respect ;  but  when  had  he  ever  thwarted  a  wish  of 
my  heart  ?  Was  I  then  to  act  with  reserve  toward  him,  in  a 
matter  which  might  affect  the  whole  current  of  my  future  life  ? 
"  I  have  done  wrong,"  thought  I ;  "  but  it  is  not  too  late  to 
remedy  it.  I  will  hasten  back,  and  open  my  whole  heart  to  my 
father !  " 

I  returned  accordingly,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  entering 
the  house,  with  my  heart  full  of  filial  piety,  and  a  contrite  speech 
upon  my  lips,  when  I  heard  a  burst  of  obstreperous  laughter  from 
my  father,  and  a  loud  titter  from  my  two  elder  sisters. 

"  A  footstep  !  "  shouted  he,  as  soon  as  he  could  recover  him 
self;  "in  love  with  a  footstep  !  why,  this  beats  the  old  lady  at 
the  window  !  "  And  then  there  was  another  appalling  burst  of 
laughter.  Had  it  been  a  clap  of  thunder,  it  could  hardly  have 


MOUNTJOY.  69 

astounded  me  more  completely. ,  Sophy,  in  the  simplicity  of  her 
heart,  had  told  all,  and  had  set  my  father's  risible  propensities  in 
full  action. 

Never  was  poor  mortal  so  thoroughly  crest-fallen  as  myself. 
The  whole  delusion  was  at  an  end.  I  drew  off  silently  from  the 
house,  shrinking  smaller  and  smaller  at  every  fresh  peal  of  laugh 
ter  ;  and  wandering  about  until  the  family  had  retired,  stole 
quietly  to  my  bed.  Scarce  any  sleep,  however,  visited  my  eyes 
that  night !  I  lay  overwhelmed  with  mortification,  and  meditating 
how  I  might  meet  the  family  in  the  morning.  The  idea  of  ridi 
cule  was  always  intolerable  to  me  ;  but  to  endure  it  on  a  subject 
by  which  my  feelings  had  been  so  much  excited,  seemed  worse 
than  death.  I  almost  determined,  at  one  time,  to  get  up,  saddle 
my  horse,  and  ride  off,  I  knew  not  whither. 

At  length  I  came  to  a  resolution.  Before  going  down  to 
breakfast,  I  sent  for  Sophy,  and  employed  her  as  ambassador  to 
treat  formally  in  the  matter.  I  insisted  that  the  subject  should 
be  buried  in  oblivion ;  otherwise,  I  would  not  show  my  face  at 
table.  It  was  readily  agreed  to ;  for  not  one  of  the  family  would 
have  given  me  pain  for  the  world.  They  faithfully  kept  their 
promise.  Not  a  word  was  said  of  the  matter ;  but  there  were 
wry  faces,  and  suppressed  titters,  that  went  to  my  soul;  and 
whenever  my  father  looked  me  in  the  face,  it  was  with  such  a  tra 
gic-comical  leer — such  an  attempt  to  pull  down  a  serious  brow 
upon  a  whimsical  mouth — that  I  had  a  thousand  times  rather  he 
had  laughed  outright. 

For  a  day  or  two  after  the  mortifying  occurrence  mentioned,  I 
kept  as  much  as  possible  out  of  the  way  of  the  family,  and  wan- 


70  MOUNTJOY. 


dered  about  the  fields  and  woods  by  myself.  I  was  sadly  out  of 
tune  :  my  feelings  were  all  jarred  and  unstrung.  The  birds  sang 
from  every  grove,  but  I  took  no  pleasure  in  their  melody ;  and 
the  flowers  of  the  field  bloomed  unheeded  around  me.  To  be 
crossed  in  love,  is  bad  enough ;  but  then  one  can  fly  to  poetry  for 
relief;  and  turn  one's  woes  to  account  in  soul-subduing  stanzas. 
But  to  have  one's  whole  passion,  object  and  all,  annihilated,  dis 
pelled,  proved  to  be  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  of — or,  worse 
than  all,  to  be  turned  into  a  proverb  and  a  jest — what  consolation 
is  there  in  such  a  case  ? 

I  avoided  the  fatal  brook  where  I  had  seen  the  footstep.  My 
favorite  resort  was  now  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  where  I  sat 
upon  the  rocks,  and  mused  upon  the  current  that  dimpled  by,  or 
the  waves  that  laved  the  shore ;  or  watched  the  bright  mutations 
of  the  clouds,  and  the  shifting  lights  and  shadows  of  the  distant 
mountain.  By  degrees,  a  returning  serenity  stole  over  my  feel 
ings  ;  and  a  sigh  now  and  then,  gentle  and  easy,  and  unattended 
by  pain,  showed  that  my  heart  was  recovering  its  susceptibility. 

As  I  was  sitting  in  this  musing  mood,  my  eye  became  gradu 
ally  fixed  upon  an  object  that  was  borne  along  by  the  tide.  It 
proved  to  be  a  little  pinnace,  beautifully  modelled,  and  gaily 
painted  and  decorated.  It  was  an  unusual  sight  in  this  neighbor 
hood,  which  was  rather  lonely :  indeed,  it  was  rare  to  see  any 
pleasure-barks  in  this  part  of  the  river.  As  it  drew  nearer,  I 
perceived  that  there  was  no  one  on  board;  it  had  apparently 
drifted  from  its  anchorage.  There  was  not  a  breath  of  air  :  the 
little  bark  came  floating  along  on  the  glassy  stream,  wheeling 
about  with  the  eddies.  At  length  it  ran  aground,  almost  at  the 
foot  of  the  rock  on  which  I  was  seated.  I  descended  to  the  mar- 


MOUNTJOY.  71 


gin  of  the  river,  and  drawing  the  bark  to  shore,  admired  its  light 
and  elegant  proportions,  and  the  taste  with  which  it  was  fitted 
up.  The  benches  were  covered  with  cushions,  and  its  long 
streamer  was  of  silk.  On  one  of  the  cushions  lay  a  lady's  glove, 
of  delicate  size  and  shape,  with  beautifully  tapered  fingers.  I 
instantly  seized  it  and  thrust  it  in  my  bosom :  it  seemed  a  match 
for  the  fairy  footstep  that  had  so  fascinated  me. 

In  a  moment,  all  the  romance  of  my  bosom  was  again  in  a 
glow.  Here  was  one  of  the  very  incidents  of  fairy  tale :  a  bark 
sent  by  some  invisible  power,  some  good  genius,  or  benevolent 
fairy,  to  waft  me  to  some  delectable  adventure.  I  recollected 
something  of  an  enchanted  bark,  drawn  by  white  swans,  that  con 
veyed  a  knight  down  the  current  of  the  Rhine,  on  some  enterprise 
connected  with  love  and  beauty.  The  glove,  too,  showed  that 
there  was  a  lady  fair  concerned  in  the  present  adventure.  It 
might  be  a  gauntlet  of  defiance,  to  dare  me  to  the  enterprise. 

In  the  spirit  of  romance,  and  the  whim  of  the  moment,  I 
sprang  on  board,  hoisted  the  light  sail,  and  pushed  from  shore. 
As  if  breathed  by  some  presiding  power,  a  light  breeze  at  that 
moment  sprang  up,  swelled  out  the  sail,  and  dallied  with  the  silken 
streamer.  For  a  time  I  glided  along  under  steep  umbrageous 
banks,  or  across  deep  sequestered  bays ;  and  then  stood  out  over 
a  wide  expansion  of  the  river,  toward  a  high  rocky  promontory. 
It  was  a  lovely  evening :  the  sun  was  setting  in  a  congregation  of 
clouds  that  threw  the  whole  heavens  in  a  glow,  and  were  reflected 
in  the  river.  I  delighted  myself  with  all  kinds  of  fantastic  fancies, 
as  to  what  enchanted  island,  or  mystic  bower,  or  necromantic 
palace,  I  was  to  be  conveyed  by  the  fairy  bark. 

In  the  revel  of  my  fancy,  I  had  not  noticed  that  the  gorgeous 


72  MOUNTJOY. 


congregation  of  clouds  which  had  so  much  delighted  me,  was  in 
fact  a  gathering  thunder-gust.  I  perceived  the  truth  too  late 
The  clouds  came  hurrying  on,  darkening  as  they  advanced.  The 
whole  face  of  nature  was  suddenly  changed,  and  assumed  that  bale 
ful  and  livid  tint,  predictive  of  a  storm.  I  tried  to  gain  the  shore, 
but  before  I  could  reach  it,  a  blast  of  wind  struck  the  water,  and 
lashed  it  at  once  into  foam.  The  next  moment  it  overtook  the 
boat.  Alas !  I  was  nothing  of  a  sailor ;  and  my  protecting  fairy 
forsook  me  in  the  moment  of  peril.  I  endeavored  to  lower  the 
sail :  but  in  so  doing,  I  had  to  quit  the  helm ;  the  bark  was  over 
turned  in  an  instant,  and  I  was  thrown  into  the  water.  I  en 
deavored  to  cling  to  the  wreck,  but  missed  my  hold :  being  a 
poor  swimmer,  I  soon  found  myself  sinking,  but  grasped  a  light 
oar  that  was  floating  by  me.  It  was  not  sufficient  for  my  sup 
port  :  I  again  sank  beneath  the  surface ;  there  was  a  rushing  and 
bubbling  sound  in  my  ears,  and  all  sense  forsook  me. 


How  long  I  remained  insensible,  I  know  not.  I  had  a  con 
fused  notion  of  being  moved  and  tossed  about,  and  of  hearing 
strange  beings  and  strange  voices  around  me ;  but  all  was  like  a 
hideous  dream.  When  I  at  length  recovered  full  consciousness 
and  perception,  I  found  myself  in  bed,  in  a  spacious  chamber, 
furnished  with  more  taste  than  I  had  been  accustomed  to.  The 
bright  rays  of  a  morning  sun  were  intercepted  by  curtains  of  a 
delicate  rose  color,  that  gave  a  soft,  voluptuous  tinge  to  every 
object.  Not  far  from  my  bed,  on  a  classic  tripod,  was  a  basket 
of  beautiful  exotic  flowers,  breathing  the  sweetest  fragrance. 

"  Where  am  I  ?     How  came  I  here  ?  " 


MOUNTJOY.  7S 


I  tasked  my  mind  to  catch  at  some  previous  event,  from  which 
I  might  trace  up  the  thread  of  existence  to  the  present  moment. 
By  degrees  I  called  to  mind  the  fairy  pinnace,  my  daring  embar- 
cation,  my  adventurous  voyage,  and  my  disastrous  shipwreck. 
Beyond  that,  all  was  chaos.  How  came  I  here  ?  "What  unknown 
region  had  I  landed  upon?  The  people  that  inhabited  it  must  be 
gentle  and  amiable,  and  of  elegant  tastes,  for  they  loved  downy 
beds,  fragrant  flowers,  and  rose-colored  curtains. 

While  I  lay  thus  musing,  the  tones  of  a  harp  reached  my  ear. 
Presently,  they  were  accompanied  by  a  female  voice.  It  came 
from  the  room  below ;  but  in  the  profound  stillness  of  my  chamber, 
not  a  modulation  was  lost.  My  sisters  were  all  considered  good 
musicians,  and  sang  very  tolerably ;  but  I  had  never  heard  a  voice 
like  this.  There  w^,s  no  attempt  at  difficult  execution,  or  striking 
effect ;  but  there  were  exquisite  inflexions,  and  tender  turns,  which 
art  could  not  reach.  Nothing  but  feeling  and  sentiment  could 
produce  them.  It  was  soul  breathed  forth  in  sound.  I  was  always 
alive  to  the  influence  of  music :  indeed,  I  was  susceptible  of  vo 
luptuous  influences  of  every  kind — sounds,  colors,  shapes,  and 
fragrant  odors.  I  was  the  very  slave  of  sensation. 

I  lay  mute  and  breathless,  and  drank  in  every  note  of  this 
siren  strain.  It  thrilled  through  my  whole  frame,  and  filled  my 
soul  with  melody  and  love.  I  pictured  to  myself,  with  curious 
logic,  the  form  of  the  unseen  musician.  Such  melodious  sounds 
and  exquisite  inflexions  could  only  be  produced  by  organs  of  the 
most  delicate  flexibility.  Such  organs  do  not  belong  to  coarse, 
vulgar  forms;  they  are  the  harmonious  results  of  fair  propor 
tions  and  admirable  symmetry.  A  being  so  organized,  must  be 
lovely. 

4 


74  MOUJSTJOY. 


Again  my  busy  imagination  was  at  work.  I  called  to  mind 
the  Arabian  story  of  a  prince,  borne  away  during  sleep  by  a  good 
genius,  to  the  distant  abode  of  a  princess,  of  ravishing  beauty.  I 
do  not  pretend  to  say  that  I  believed  in  having  experienced  a  similar 
transportation ;  but  it  was  my  inveterate  habit  to  cheat  myself 
with  fancies  of  the  kind,  and  to  give  the  tinge  of  illusion  to  sur 
rounding  realities. 

The  witching  sound  had  ceased,  but  its  vibrations  still  played 
round  my  heart,  and  filled  it  with  a  tumult  of  soft  emotions.  At 
this  moment,  a  self-upbraiding  pang  shot  through  my  bosom. 
"  Ah,  recreant ! "  a  voice  seemed  to  exclaim,  "  is  this  the  stability 
of  thine  affections  ?  What !  hast  thou  so  soon  forgotten  the 
nymph  of  the  fountain  ?  Has  one  song,  idly  piped  in  thine  ear, 
been  sumcient  to  charm  away  the  cherished  tenderness  of  a  whole 
summer  ?  " 

The  wise  may  smile — but  I  am  in  a  confiding  mood,  and  must 
confess  my  weakness.  I  felt  a  degree  of  compunction  at  this 
sudden  infidelity,  yet  I  could  not  resist  the  power  of  present  fasci 
nation.  My  peace  of  mind  was  destroyed  by  conflicting  claims. 
The  nymph  of  the  fountain  came  over  my  memory,  with  all  the 
associations  of  fairy  footsteps,  shady  groves,  soft  echoes,  and  wild 
streamlets ;  but  this  new  passion  was  produced  by  a  strain  of 
soul-subduing  melody,  still  lingering  in  my  ear,  aided  by  a  downy 
bed,  fragrant  flowers,  and  rose-colored  curtains.  "  Unhappy 
youth  ! "  sighed  I  to  myself,  "  distracted  by  such  rival  passions, 
and  the  empire  of  thy  heart  thus  violently  contested  by  the  sound 
of  a  voice,  and  the  print  of  a  footstep  ! " 


MOUNTJOY.  75 


I  had  not  remained  long  in  this  mood,  when  I  heard  the  door 
of  the  room  gently  opened.  I  turned  my  head  to  see  what  inhab 
itant  of  this  enchanted  palace  should  appear;  whether  page  in 
green,  hideous  dwarf,  or  haggard  fairy.  It  was  my  own  man 
Scipio.  He  advanced  with  cautious  step,  and  was  delighted,  as 
he  said,  to  find  me  so  much  myself  again.  My  first  questions 
were  as  to  where  I  was,  and  how  I  came  there  ?  Scipio  told  me  a 
long  story  of  his  having  been  fishing  in  a  canoe,  at  the  time  of  my 
hare-brained  cruise ;  of  his  noticing  the  gathering  squall,  and  my 
^mpending  danger ;  of  his  hastening  to  join  me,  but  arriving  just 
in  time  to  snatch  me  from  a  watery  grave ;  of  the  great  difficulty 
in  restoring  me  to  animation ;  and  of  my  being  subsequently  con 
veyed,  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  to  this  mansion. 

"  But  where  am  I  ?  "  was  the  reiterated  demand. 

"'In  the  house  of  Mr.  Somerville." 

"  Somerville — Somerville  ! "  I  recollected  to  have  heard  that 
a  gentleman  of  that  name  had  recently  taken  up  his  residence  at 
some  distance  from  my  father's  abode,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
Hudson.  He  was  commonly  known  by  the  name  of  "  French 
Somerville,"  from  having  passed  part  of  his  early  life  in  France, 
and  from  his  exhibiting  traces  of  French  taste  in  his  mode  of 
living,  and  the  arrangements  of  his  house.  In  fact,  it  was  in 
his  pleasure-boat,  which  had  got  adrift,  that  I  had  made  my  fan 
ciful  and  disastrous  cruise.  AH  this  was  simple  straight-forward 
matter  of  fact,  and  threatened  to  demolish  all  the  cobweb  romance 
I  had  been  spinning,  when  fortunately  I  again  heard  the  tinkling 
of  a  harp.  I  raised  myself  in  bed,  and  listened. 

"  Scipio,"  said  I,  with  some  little  hesitation,  "  I  heard  some  one 
singing  just  now.  Who  was  it  ?  " 


76  MOUNTJQY. 


"  Oh,  that  was  Miss  Julia." 

"  Julia  !  Julia !  Delightful !  what  a  name  !  And,  Scipio — is 
she — is  she  pretty  ?  " 

Scipio  grinned  from  ear  to  ear.  "  Except  Miss  Sophy,  she  was 
the  most  beautiful  young  lady  he  had  ever  seen." 

I  should  observe,  that  my  sister  Sophia  was  considered  by  all 
the  servants  a  paragon  of  perfection. 

Scipio  now  offered  to  remove  the  basket  of  flowers ;  he  was 
afraid  their  odor  might  be  too  powerful ;  but  Miss  Julia  had  given 
them  that  morning  to  be  placed  in  my  room. 

These  flowers,  then,  had  been  gathered  by  the  fairy  fingers  of 
my  unseen  beauty  ;  that  sweet  breath  which  had  filled  my  ear  with 
melody,  had  passed  over  them.  I  made  Scipio  hand  them  to  me, 
culled  several  of  the  most  delicate,  and  laid  them  on  my  bosom. 

Mr.  Sornerville  paid  me  a  visit  not  long  afterward.  He  was 
an  interesting  study  for  me,  for  he  was  the  father  of  my  unseen 
beauty,  and  probably  resembled  her.  I  scanned  him  closely.  He 
was  a  tall  and  elegant  man,  with  an  open,  affable  manner,  and 
an  erect  and  graceful  carriage.  His  eyes  were  bluish-gray,  and, 
though  not  dark,  yet  at  times  were  sparkling  and  expressive. 
His  hair  was  dressed  and  powdered,  and  being  lightly  combed  up 
from  his  forehead,  added  to  the  loftiness  of  his  aspect.  He  was 
fluent  in  discourse,  but  his  conversation  had  the  quiet  tone  of  pol 
ished  society,  without  any  of  those  bold  flights  of  thought,  and 
picturings  of  fancy,  which  I  so  much  admired. 

My  imagination  was  a  little  puzzled,  at  first,  to  make  out  of  this 
assemblage  pf  personal  and  mental  qualities,  a  picture  that  should 
harmonize  with  my  previous  idea  of  the  fair  unseen.  By  dint, 
however,  of  selecting1  what  it  liked,  and  rejecting  what  it  did  not 


MOUNTJOY.  77 


like,  and  giving  a  touch  here  and  a  touch  there,  it  soon  finished 
out  a  satisfactory  portrait. 

"  Julia  must  be  tall,"  thought  I,  "  and  of  exquisite  grace  and 
dignity.  She  is  not  quite  so  courtly  as  her  father,  for  she  has 
been  brought  up  in  the  retirement  of  the  country.  Neither  is 
she  of  such  vivacious  deportment ;  for  the  tones  of  her  voice  are 
soft  and  plaintive,  and  she  loves  pathetic  music.  She  is  rather  pen 
sive — yet  not  too  pensive ;  just  what  is  called  interesting.  Her 
eyes  are  like  her  father's,  except  that  they  are  of  a  purer  blue, 
and  more  tender  and  languishing.  She  has  light  hair — not  exact 
ly  flaxen,  for  I  do  not  not  like  flaxen  hair,  but  between  that  and 
auburn.  In  a  word,  she  is  a  tall,  elegant,  imposing,  languishing, 
blue-eyed,  romantic-looking  beauty."  And  having  thus  finished 
her  picture,  I  felt  ten  times  more  in  love  with  her  than  ever. 


I  felt  so  much  recovered,  that  I  would  at  once  have^left  my 
room,  but  Mr.  Somerville  objected  to  it.  He  had  sent  early  word 
to  my  family  of  my  safety ;  and  my  father  arrived  in  the  course 
of  the  morning.  He  was  shocked  at  learning  the  risk  I  had  run, 
but  rejoiced  to  find  me  so  much  restored,  and  was  warm  in  his 
thanks  to  Mr.  Somerville  for  his  kindness.  The  other  only  re 
quired,  in  return,  that  I  might  remain  two  or  three  days  as  his 
guest,  to  give  time  for  my  recovery,  and  for  our  forming  a  closer 
acquaintance ;  a  request  which  my  father  readily  granted.  Scipio 
accordingly  accompanied  my  father  home,  and  returned  with  a  sup 
ply  of  clothes,  and  with  affectionate  letters  from  my  mother  and 
sisters. 


78  MOUNTJOY. 


The  next  morning,  aided  by  Scipio,  I  made  my  toilet  with 
rather  more  care  than  usual,  and  descended  the  stairs,  with  some 
trepidation,  eager  to  see  the  original  of  the  portrait  which  had 
been  so  completely  pictured  in  my  imagination. 

On  entering  the  parlor,  I  found  it  deserted.  Like  the  rest  of 
the  house,  it  was  furnished  in  a  foreign  style.  The  curtains  were 
of  French  silk ;  there  were  Grecian  couches,  marble  tables,  pier- 
glasses,  and  chandeliers.  What  chiefly  attracted  my  eye,  were 
documents  of  female  taste  that  I  saw  around  me ;  a  piano,  with 
an  ample  stock  of  Italian  music  ;  a  book  of  poetry  lying  on  the 
sofa ;  a  vase  of  fresh  flowers  on  a  table,  and  a  portfolio  open  with 
a  skilful  and  half-finished  sketch  of  them.  In  the  window  was  a 
Canary  bird,  in  a  gilt  cage,  and  near  by,  the  harp  that  had  been 
in  Julia's  arms.  Happy  harp  !  But  where  was  the  being  that 
reigned  in  this  little  empire  of  delicacies  ? — that  breathed  poetry 
and  song,  and  dwelt  among  birds  and  flowers,  and  rose-colored 
curtains  ? 

Suddenly  I  heard  the  hall  door  fly  open,  the  quick  pattering 
of  light  steps,  a  wild,  capricious  strain  of  music,  and  the  shrill 
barking  of  a  dog.  A  light  frolic  nymph  of  fifteen  came  tripping 
into  the  room,  playing  on  a  flageolet,  with  «,  little  spaniel  ramping 
after  her.  Her  gypsy  hat  had  fallen  back  upon  her  shoulders ; 
a  profusion  of  glossy  brown  hair  was  blown  in  rich  ringlets  about 
her  face,  which  beamed  through  them  with  the  brightness  of  smiles 
and  dimples. 

At  sight  of  me,  she  stopped  short,  in  the  most  beautiful  con 
fusion,  stammered  out  a  word  or  two  about  looking  for  her  father, 
glided  out  of  the  door,  and  I  heard  her  bounding  up  the  stair 
case,  like  a  frightened  fawn,  with  the  little  dog  barking  after  her. 


MOUNTJOY.  79 


When  Miss  Somerville  returned  to  the  parlor,  she  was  quite  a 
different  being.  She  entered,  stealing  along  by  her  mother's  side 
with  noiseless  step,  and  sweet  timidity :  her  hair  was  prettily  ad 
justed,  and  a  soft  blush  mantled  on  her  damask  cheek.  Mr.  Som 
erville  accompanied  the  ladies,  and  introduced  me  regularly  to 
them.  There  were  many  kind  inquiries,  and  much  sympathy  ex 
pressed  on  the  subject  of  my  nautical  accident,  and  some  remarks 
upon  the  wild  scenery  of  the  neighborhood,  with  which  the  ladies 
seemed  perfectly  acquainted. 

"  You  must  know,"  said  Mr.  Somerville,  "  that  we  are  great 
navigators,  and  delight  in  exploring  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 
river.  My  daughter,  too,  is  a  greaf  hunter  of  the  picturesque, 
and  transfers  every  rock  and  glen  to  her  portfolio.  By  the  way, 
my  dear,  show  Mr.  Mountjoy  that  pretty  scene  you  have  lately 
sketched."  Julia  complied,  blushing,  and  drew  from  her  port 
folio  a  colored  sketch.  I  almost  started  at  the  sight.  It  was  my 
favorite  brook.  A  sudden  thought  darted  across  my  mind.  I 
glanced  down  my  eye,  and  beheld  the  divinest  little  foot  in  the 
world.  Oh,  blissful  conviction  !  The  struggle  of  my  affections 
was  at  an  end.  The  voice  and  the  footstep  were  no  longer  at  va 
riance.  Julia  Somerville  was  the  nymph  of  the  fountain  ! 


What  conversation  passed  during  breakfast,  I  do  not  recol 
lect,  and  hardly  was  conscious  of  at  the  time,  for  my  thoughts 
were  in  complete  confusion.  I  wished  to  gaze  on  Miss  Somerville, 
but  did  not  dare.  Once,  indeed,  I  ventured  a  glance.  She  was 
at  that  moment  darting  a  similar  one  from  under  a  covert  of  ring- 


80  MOUNTJOY. 


lets.  Our  eyes  seemed  shocked  by  the  rencontre,  and  fell;  hers 
through  the  natural  modesty  of  her  sex,  mine  through  a  bashful- 
ness  produced  by  the  previous  workings  of  my  imagination.  That 
glance,  however,  went  like  a  sunbeam  to  my  heart. 

A  convenient  mirror  favored  my  diffidence,  and  gave  me  tho 
reflection  of  Miss  Somerville's  form.  It  is  true  it  only  presented 
the  back  of  her  head,  but  she  had  the  merit  of  an  ancient  statue  ; 
contemplate  her  from  any  point  of  view,  she  was  beautiful.  And  yet 
she  was  totally  different  from  every  thing  I  had  before  conceived 
of  beauty.  She  was  not  the  serene,  meditative  maid  that  I  had  pic 
tured  the  nymph  of  the  fountain  ;  nor  the  tall,  soft,  languishing, 
blue-eyed,  dignified  being,  that  I  had  fancied  the  minstrel  of  the 
harp.  There  was  nothing  of  dignity  about  her  :  she  was  girlish 
in  her  appearance,  and  scarcely  of  the  middle  size  ;  but  then  there 
was  the  tenderness  of  budding  youth ;  the  sweetness  of  the  half- 
blown  rose,  when  not  a  tint  or  perfume  has  been  withered  or  ex 
haled  ;  there  were  smiles  and  dimples,  and  all  the  soft  witcheries 
of  ever-varying  expression.  I  wondered  that  I  could  ever  have 
admired  any  other  style  of  beauty. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Somerville  departed  to  attend  to  the  con 
cerns  of  his  estate,  and  gave  me  in  charge  of  the  ladies.  Mrs. 
Somerville  also  was  called  away  by  household  cares,  and  I  was 
left  alone  with  Julia!  Here  then  was  the  situation  which  of  all 
others  I  had  most  coveted.  I  was  in  the  presence  of  the  lovely 
being  that  had  so  long  been  the  desire  of  my  heart.  We  were 
alone  ;  propitious  opportunity  for  a  lover  !  Did  I  sieze  upon  it  ? 
Did  I  break  out  in  one  of  my  accustomed  rhapsodies  ?  No  such 
thing  !  Never  was  being  more  awkwardly  embarrassed. 

"  What  can  be  the  cause  of  this  ?  "  thought  I.  "  Surely  I  can- 


MOUNTJOY.  8J 


not  stand  in  awe  of  this  young  girl.  I  am  of  course  her  superior 
in  intellect,  and  am  never  embarrassed  in  company  with  my  tutor 
notwithstanding  all  his  wisdom.^' 

It  was  passing  strange.  I  felt  that  if  she  were  an  old  woman 
I  should  be  quite  at  my  ease ;  if  she  were  even  an  ugly  woman,  I 
should  make  out  very  well ;  it  was  her  beauty  that  overpowered 
me.  How  little  do  lovely  women  know  what  awful  beings  they 
are,  in  the  eyes  of  inexperienced  youth !  Young  men  brought  up 
in  the  fashionable  circles  of  our  cities  will  smile  at  all  this.  Accus 
tomed  to  mingle  incessantly  in  female  society,  and  to  have  the 
romance  of  the  heart  deadened  by  a  thousand  frivolous  flirtations, 
women  are  nothing  but  women  in  their  eyes  ;  but  to  a  susceptible 
'youth  like  myself,  brought  up  in  the  country,  they  are  perfect 
divinities. 

Miss  Somerville  was  at  first  a  little  embarrassed  herslf ;  but, 
somehow  or  other,  women  have  a  natural  adroitness  in  recovering 
their  self-possession;  they  are  more  alert  in  their  minds,  and 
graceful  in  their  manners.  Besides,  I  was  but  an  ordinary  per 
sonage  in  Miss  Somerville's  eyes ;  she  was  not  under  the  influence 
of  such  a  singular  course  of  imaginings  as  had  surrounded  her, 
in  my  eyes,  with  the  illusions  of  romance.  Perhaps,  too,  she  saw 
the  confusion  in  the  opposite  camp,  and  gained  courage  from  the 
discovery.  At  any  rate,  she  was  the  first  to  take  the  field, 

Her  conversation,  however,  was  only  on  common-place  topics, 
and  in  an  easy,  well-bred  style.  I  endeavored  to  respond  in  the 
same  manner ;  but  I  was  strangely  incompetent  to  the  task.  My 
ideas  were  frozen  up ;  even  words  seemed  to  fail  me.  I  was  ex 
cessively  vexed  at  myself,  for  I  wished  to  be  uncommonly  elegant. 
I  tried  two  or  three  times  to  turn  a  pretty  thought,  or  to  utter  a 

4* 


82  MOUNTJOY. 


fine  sentiment ;  but  it  would  come  forth  so  trite,  so  forced,  so 
mawkish,  that  I  was  ashamed  of  it.  My  very  voice  sounded  dis 
cordantly,  though  I  sought  to  modulate  it  into  the  softest  tones. 
"  The  truth  is,"  thought  I  to  myself,  "  I  cannot  bring  my  mind 
down  to  the  small  talk  necessary  for  young  girls ;  it  is  too  mascu 
line  and  robust  for  the  mincing  measure  of  parlor  gossip.  I  am 
a  philosopher — and  that  accounts  for  it." 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Somerville  at  length  gave  me  relief.  I 
at  once  breathed  freely,  and  felt  a  vast  deal  of  confidence  come 
over  me.  "  This  is  strange,"  thought  I,  "  that  the  appearance  of 
another  woman  should  revive  my  courage ;  that  I  should  be  a 
better  match  for  two  women  than  one.  However,  since  it  is  so,  I 
will  take  advantage  of  the  circumstance,  and  let  this  young  lady  * 
see  that  I  am  not  so  great  a  simpleton  as  she  probably  thinks  me." 

I  accordingly  took  up  the  book  of  poetry  which  lay  upon  the 
sofa.  It  was  Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  Nothing  could  have  been 
more  fortunate ;  it  afforded  a  fine  scope  for  my  favorite  vein  of 
grandiloquence.  I  went  largely  into  a  discussion  of  its  merits,  or 
rather  an  enthusiastic  eulogy  of  them.  My  observations  were  ad 
dressed  to  Mrs.  Somerville,  for  I  found  I  could  talk  to  her  with 
more  ease  than  to  her  daughter.  She  appeared  perfectly  alive  to 
the  beauties  of  the  poet,  and  disposed  to  meet  me  in  the  discus 
sion  ;  but  it  was  not  my  object  to  hear  her  talk ;  it  was  to  talk 
myself.  I  anticipated  all  she  had  to  say,  overpowered  her  with 
the  copiousness  of  my  ideas,  and  supported  and  illustrated  them 
by  long  citations  from  the  author. 

While  thus  holding  forth,  I  cast  a  side  glance  to  see  how  Miss 
Somerville  was  affected.  She  had  some  embroidery  stretched  on 
a  frame  before  her,  but  had  paused  in  her  labor,  and  was  looking 


MOUNTJOY.  83 


down  as  if  lost  in  mute  attention.  I  felt  a  glow  of  self-satisfaction, 
but  I  recollected,  at  the  same  time,  with  a  kind  of  pique,  the  advan 
tage  she  had  enjoyed  over  me  in  our  tete-a-tete.  I  determined  to 
push  my  triumph,  and  accordingly  kept  on  with  redoubled  ardor, 
until  I  had  fairly  exhausted  my  subject,  or  rather  my  thoughts. 

I  had  scarce  come  to  a  full  stop,  when  Miss  Somerville  raised 
her  eyes  from  the  work  on  which  they  had  been  fixed,  and  turning 
to  her  mother,  observed :  "  I  have  been  considering,  mamma, 
whether  to  work  these  flowers  plain,  or  in  colors." 

Had  an  ice-bolt  been  shot  to  my  heart,  it  could  not  have  chilled 
me  more  effectually.  "  What  a  fool,"  thought  I,  "  have  I  been 
making  myself — squandering  away  fine  thoughts,  and  fine  language^ 
upon  a  light  mind,  and  an  ignorant  ear !  This  girl  knows  nothing 
of  poetry.  She  has  no  soul,  I  fear,  for  its  beauties.  Can  any  one 
have  real  sensibility  of  heart,  and  not  be  alive  to  poetry  ?  How 
ever,  she  is  young :  this  part  of  her  education  has  been  neglected : 
there  is  time  enough  to  remedy  it.  I  will  be  her  preceptor,  x 
will  kindle  in  her  mind  the  sacred  flame,  and  lead  her  through  tbs 
fairy  land  of  song.  But  after  all,  it  is  rather  unfortunate  that  I 
should  have  fallen  in  love  with  a  woman  who  knows  nothing  of 
poetry." 

I  passed  a  day  not  altogether  satisfactory.  I  was  a  little  dis 
appointed  that  Miss  Somerville  did  not  show  more  poetical  feeling. 
c<  I  am  afraid,  after  all,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  she  is  light  and  girl 
ish,  and  more  fitted  to  pluck  wild  flowers,  play  on  the  flageolet, 
and  romp  with  little  dogs,  than  to  converse  with  a  man  of  my  turn." 

I  believe,  however,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  was  more  out  of  humor 
with  myself.  I  thought  I  had  made  the  worst  first  appearance 


84  MOUNTJOY. 


that  ever  hero  made,  either  in  novel  or  fairy  tale.  I  was  out  of 
all  patience,  when  I  called  to  mind  my  awkward  attempts  at  ease 
and  elegance,  in  the  tete-a-tete.  And  then  my  intolerable  long 
lecture  about  poetry,  to  catch  the  applause  of  a  heedless  auditor ! 
But  there  I  was  not  to  blame.  I  had  certainly  been  eloquent ;  it 
was  her  fault  that  the  eloquence  was  wasted.  To  meditate  upon 
the  embroidery  of  a  flower,  when  I  was  expatiating  on  the  beauties 
of  Milton  !  She  might  at  least  have  admired  the  poetry,  if  she 
did  not  relish  the  manner  in  which  it  was  delivered ;  though  that 
was  not  despicable,  for  I  had  recited  passages  in  my  best  style, 
which  my  mother  and  sisters  had  always  considered  equal  to  a 
play.  "  Oh,  it  is  evident,"  thought  I,  "  Miss  Somerville  has  very 
little  soul ! " 

Such  were  my  fancies  and  cogitations,  during  the  day,  the 
greater  part  of  which  was  spent  in  my  chamber,  for  I  was  still 
languid.  My  evening  was  passed  in  the  drawing-room,  where  I 
overlooked  Miss  Somerville's  portfolio  of  sketches.  They  were 
executed  with  great  taste,  and  showed  a  nice  observation  of  the 
peculiarities  of  nature.  They  were  all  her  own,  and  free  from 
thoje  cunning  tints  and  touches  of  the  drawing-master,  by  which 
young  ladies'  drawings,  like  their  heads,  are  dressed  up  for  com 
pany.  There  was  no  garish  and  vulgar  trick  of  colors,  either ;  all 
was  executed  with  singular  truth  and  simplicity. 

"  And  yet,n  thought  I,  "  this  little  being,  who  has  so  pure  an 
eye  to  take  in7  as  in  a  limpid  brook,  all  the  graceful  forms  and 
magic  tints  of  nature,  has  no  soul  for  poetry  !  " 

Mr.  Somerville  toward  the  latter  part  of  the  evening,  observ 
ing  my  eye  to  wander  occasionally  to  the  harp,  interpreted  and 
met  my  wishes  with  his  accustomed  civility. 


MOUNTJOY.  85 


"  Julia,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  Mr.  Mountjoy  would  like  to  hear 
a  little  music  from  your  harp ;  let  us  hear,  too,  the  sound  of  your 
voice." 

Julia  immediately  complied,  without  any  of  that  hesitation 
and  difficulty,  by  which  young  ladies  are  apt  to  make  the  company 
pay  dear  for  bad  music.  She  sang  a  sprightly  strain,  in  a 
brilliant  style,  that  came  trilling  playfully  over  the  ear ;  and  tht 
bright  eye  and  dimpling  smile  showed  that  her  little  heart  danced 
with  the  song.  Her  pet  Canary  bird,  who  hung  close  by,  was 
wakened  by  the  music,  and  burst  forth  into  an  emulating  strain. 
Julia  smiled  with  a  pretty  air  of  defiance,  and  played  louder. 

After  some  time,  the  music  changed,  and  ran  into  a  plaintive 
strain,  in  a  minor  key.  Then  it  was,  that  all  the  former  witchery 
of  her  voice  came  over  me ;  then  it  was,  that  she  seemed  to  sing 
from  the  heart  and  to  the  heart.  Her  fingers  moved  about  the 
chords  as  if  they  scarcely  touched  them.  Her  whole  manner  and 
appearance  changed;  her  eyes  beamed  with  the  softest  expres 
sion  ;  her  countenance,  her  frame,  all  seemed  subdued  into  tender 
ness.  She  rose  from  the  harp,  leaving  it  still  vibrating,  with 
sweet  sounds,  and  moved  toward  her  father,  to  bid  him  good  night. 

His  eyes  had  been  fixed  on  her  intently,  during  her  perform 
ance.  As  she  came  before  him,  he  parted  her  shining  ringlets  with 
both  his  hands,  and  looked  down  with  the  fondness  of  a  father 
on  her  innocent  face.  The  music  seemed  still  lingering  in  its  lin 
eaments,  and  the  action  of  her  father  brought  a  moist  gloani  in 
her  eye.  He  kissed  her  fair  forehead,  after  the  French  mode  of 
parental  caressing  :  "  Good  night,  and  God  bless  you,"  said  he, 
"  my  good  little  girl !  " 

Julia  tripped  away,  with  a  tear  in  her  eye,  a  dimple  in  her 


86  MOUNTJOY. 


cheek,  and  a  light  heart  in  her  bosom.     I  thought  it  the  prettiest 
picture  of  paternal  and  filial  affection  I  had  ever  seen. 

When  I  retired  to  bed,  a  new  train  of  thoughts  crowded  into 
my  brain.  "  After  all,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  it  is  clear  this  girl 
has  a  soul,  though  she  was  not  moved  by  my  eloquence.  She  has 
all  the  outward  signs  and  evidences  of  poetic  feeling.  She  paints 
well,  and  has  an  eye  for  nature.  She  is  a  fine  musician,  and 
enters  into  the  very  soul  of  song.  What  a  pity  that  she  knows 
nothing  of  poetry !  But  we  will  see  what  is  to  be  done.  I  am 
irretrievably  in  love  with  her ;  what  then  am  I  to  do  ?  Come 
down  to  the  level  of  her  mind,  or  endeavor  to  raise  her  to  some 
kind  of  intellectual  equality  with  myself  ?  That  is  the  most  gen 
erous  course.  She  will  look  up  to  me  as  a  benefactor.  I  shall 
become  associated  in  her  mind  with  the  lofty  thoughts  and  har 
monious  graces  of  poetry.  She  is  apparently  docile  :  besides,  the 
difference  of  our  ages  will  give  me  an  ascendency  over  her.  She 
cannot  be  above  sixteen  years  of  age,  and  I  am  full  turned  of 
twenty."  So,  having  built  this  most  delectable  of  air-castles,  I 
fell  asleep. 


The  next  morning,  I  was  quite  a  different  being.  I  no  longer 
felt  fearful  of  stealing  a  glance  at  Julia  ;  on  the  contrary,  I  con 
templated  her  steadily,  with  the  benignant  eye  of  a  benefactor. 
Shortly  after  breakfast,  I  found  myself  alone  with  her,  as  I  had 
on  the  preceding  morning ;  but  I  felt  nothing  of  the  awkwardness 
of  our  previous  tete-a-tete.  I  was  elevated  by  the  consciousness 
of  my  intellectual  superiority,  and  should  almost  have  felt  a  sen 
timent  of  pity  for  the  ignorance  of  the  lovely  little  being,  if  I  had 


MOUNTJOY.  8*7 


not  felt  also  Jw>  assurance  that  I  should  be  able  to  dispel  it. 
"But  it  is  time,"  thought  I,  "to  open  school." 

Julia,  was  occupied  in  arranging  some  music  on  her  piano. 
I  looked  over  two  or  three  songs;  they  were  Moore's  Irish 
melodies. 

"  These  are  pretty  things,"  said  I,  flirting  the  leaves  over 
lightly,  and  giving  a  slight  shrug,  by  way  of  qualifying  the  opinion. 

"  Oh,  I  love  them  of  all  things!"  said  Julia,  "they're  so 
touching ! " 

"  Then  you  like  them  for  the  poetry,"  said  I,  with  an  encour 
aging  smile. 

"  Oh  yes  ;  she  thought  them  charmingly  written." 

Now  was  my  time.  "  Poetry,"  said  I,  assuming  a  didactic 
attitude  and  air,  "  poetry  is  one  of  the  most  pleasing  studies  that 
can  occupy  a  youthful  mind.  It  renders  us  susceptible  of  the 
gentle  impulses  of  humanity,  and  cherishes  a  delicate  perception 
of  all  that  is  virtuous  and  elevated  in  morals,  and  graceful  and 
beautiful  in  physics.  It " 

I  was  going  on  in  a  style  that  would  have  graced  a  professor 
of  rhetoric,  when  I  saw  a  light  smile  playing  about  Miss  Somer- 
ville's  mouth,  and  that  she  began  to  turn  over  the  leaves  of  a 
music  book.  I  recollected  her  inattention  to  my  discourse  of  the 
preceding  morning.  "  There  is  no  fixing  her  light  mind,"  thought 
I,  "by  abstract  theory;  we  will  proceed  practically."  As  it  hap 
pened,  the  identical  volume  of  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  was  lying 
at  hand. 

"  Let  me  recommend  to  you,  my  young  friend,"  said  I,  in  one 
of  those  tones  of  persuasive  admonition,  which  I  had  so  often 
loved  in  Glencoe — "  let  me  recommend  to  you  this  admirable 


88  MOUNTJOY. 


poem  :  you  will  find  in  it  sources  of  intellectual  enjoyment  far 
superior  to  those  songs  which  have  delighted  you."  Julia  looked 
at  the  book,  and  then  at  me,  with  a  whimsically  dubious  air. 
"  Milton's  Paradise  Lost  ?  "  said  she  ;  "  oh,  I  know  the  greater 
part  of  that  by  heart." 

I  had  not  expected  to  find  my  pupil  so  far  advanced  ;  however, 
the  Paradise  Lost  is  a  kind  of  school  book,  and  its  finest  passages 
are  given  to  young  ladies  as  tasks. 

u  I  find,"  said  I  to  myself,  "  I  must  not  treat  her  as  so  com 
plete  a  novice  ;  her  inattention,  yesterday,  could  not  have  pro 
ceeded  from  absolute  ignorance,  but  merely  from  a  want  of  poetic 
feeling.  I'll  try  her  again." 

I  now  determined  to  dazzle  her  with  my  own  erudition,  and 
launched  into  a  harangue  that  would  have  done  honor  to  an  insti 
tute.  Pope,  Spenser,  Chaucer,  and  the  old  dramatic  writers,  were 
all  dipped  into,  with  the  excursive  flight  of  a  swallow.  I  did  not 
confine  myself  to  English  poets,  but  gave  a  glance  at  the  French 
and  Italian  schools  :  I  passed  over  Ariosto  in  full  wing,  but 
paused  on  Tasso's  Jerusalem  Delivered.  I  dwelt  on  the  character 
of  Clorinda  :  "  There's  a  character,"  said  I,  "  that  you  will  find 
well  worthy  a  woman's  study.  It  shows  to  what  exalted  heights 
of  heroism  the  sex  can  rise  ;  how  gloriously  they  may  share  even 
in  the  stern  concerns  of  men." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Julia,  gently  taking  advantage  of  a 
pause  —  "  for  my  part,  I  prefer  the  character  of  Sophronia." 

I  was  thunderstruck.  She  then  had  read  Tasso  !  This  girl 
that  I  had  been  treating  as  an  ignoramus  in  poetry  !  She  pro 
ceeded,  with  a  slight  glow  of  the  cheek,  summoned  up  perhaps  by 
a  casual  glow  of  feeling  : 


MOUNTJOY.  89 


"  I  do  not  admire  those  masculine  heroines,"  said  she,  "  who 
aim  at  the  bold  qualities  of  the  opposite  sex.  Now  Sophronia 
only  exhibits  the  real  qualities  of  a  woman,  wrought  up  to  their 
highest  excitement.  She  is  modest,  gentle,  and  retiring,  as  it 
becomes  a  woman  to  be ;  but  she  has  all  the  strength  of  affection 
proper  to  a  woman.  She  cannot  fight  for  her  people,  as  Clorinda 
does,  but  she  can  offer  herself  up,  and  die,  to  serve  them.  You 
may  admire  Clorinda,  but  you  surely  would  be  more  apt  to  love 
Sophronia ;  at  least,"  added  she,  suddenly  appearing  to  recollect 
herself,  and  blushing  at  having  launched  into  such  a  discussion, 
<c  at  least,  that  is  what  papa  observed,  when  we  read  the  poem 
together." 

"  Indeed,"  said  I,  dryly,  for  I  felt  disconcerted  and  nettled  at 
being  unexpectedly  lectured  by  iny  pupil — aind^|,.I  do  not  ex 
actly  recollect  the  passage." 

"  Oh,"  said  Julia,  "  I  can  repeat  it  to  you  ;  "  and  she  imme 
diately  gave  it  in  Italian. 

Heavens  and  earth  ! — here  was  a  situation !  I  knew  no  more 
of  Italian  than  I  did  of  the  language  of  Psalmanazar.  What  a 
dilemma  for  a  would-be-wise  man  to  be  placed  in  !  I  saw  Julia 
waited  for  my  opinion. 

"  In  fact,"  said  I,  hesitating,  "  I — I  do  not  exactly  under 
stand  Italian." 

"  Oh,"  said  Julia,  with  the  utmost  naivete,  "  I  have  no  doubt 
it  is  very  beautiful  in  the  translation." 

I  was  glad  to  break  up  school,  and  get  back  to  my  chamber, 
full  of  the  mortification  which  a  wise  man  in  love  experiences  on 
finding  his  mistress  wiser  than  himself.  "  Translation  !  transla 
tion  ! "  muttered  I  to  myself,  as  I  jerked  the  door  shut  behind 


90  MOUNTJOY. 


me .  "I  am  surprised  my  father  has  never  had  me  instructed  in 
the  modern  languages.  They  are  all-important.  What  is  the  use 
of  Latin  and  Greek  ?  No  one  speaks  them ;  but  here,  the  moment 
I  make  my  appearance  in  the  world,  a  little  girl  slaps  Italian  in 
my  face.  However,  thank  Heaven,  a  language  is  easily  learned. 
The  moment  I  return  home,  I'll  set  about  studying  Italian ;  and  to 
prevent  future  surprise,  I  will  study  Spanish  and  German  at  the 
same  time ;  and  if  any  young  lady  attempts  to  quote  Italian  upon 
me  again,  I'll  bury  her  under  a  heap  of  High  Dutch  poetry  ! " 

I  felt  now  like  some  mighty  chieftain,  who  has  carried  the  war 
into  a  weak  country,  with  full  confidence  of  success,  and  been  re 
pulsed  and  obliged  to  draw  off  his  forces  from  before  some  incon 
siderable  fortress. 

"  However,"  thought  I,  "  I  have  as  yet  brought  only  my  light 
artillery  into  action  ;  we  shall  see  what  is  to  be  done  with  my 
heavy  ordnance.  Julia  is  evidently  well  versed  in  poetry ;  but 
it  is  natural  she  should  be  so ;  it  is  allied  to  painting  and  music, 
and  is  congenial  to  the  light  graces  of  the  female  character.  We 
will  try  her  on  graver  themes." 

I  felt  all  my  pride  awakened ;  it  even  for  a  time  swelled  higher 
than  my  love.  I  was  determined  completely  to  establish  my 
mental  superiority,  and  subdue  the  intellect  of  this  little  being : 
it  would  then  be  time  to  sway  the  sceptre  of  gentle  empire,  and 
win  the  affections  of  her  heart. 

Accordingly,  at  dinner  I  again  took  the  field,  en  potence.  I 
now  addressed  myself  to  Mr.  Somerville,  for  I  was  about  to  enter 
upon  topics  in  which  a  young  girl  like  her  could  not  be  well  versed. 
I  led,  or  rather  forced,  the  conversation  into  a  vein  of  historical 
erudition,  discussing  several  of  the  most  prominent  facts  of  ancient 


MOUNTJOY.  91 


history,  and  accompanying  them  with  sound,  indisputable    apo 
thegms. 

Mr.  Somerville  listened  to  me  with  the  air  of  a  man  receiving 
information.  I  was  encouraged,  and  went  on  gloriously  from 
theme  to  theme  of  school  declamation.  I  sat  with  Marius  on  the 
ruins  of  Carthage ;  I  defended  the  bridge  with  Horatius  Codes  ; 
thrust  my  hand  into  the  flame  with  Martius  Scsevola,  and  plunged 
with  Curtius  into  the  yawning  gulf;  I  fought  side  by  side  with 
Leonidas,  at  the  straits  of  Thermopylae ;  and  was  going  full  drive 
into  the  battle  of  Plataea,  when  my  memory,  which  is  the  worst  in 
the  world,  failed  me,  just  as  I  wanted  the  name  of  the  Lacedemo- 
aian  commander. 

"  Julia,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Somerville,  "  perhaps  you  may 
recollect  the  name  of  which  Mr.  Mountjoy  is  in  quest  ?" 

Julia  colored  slightly  :  "  I  believe,"  said  she,  in  a  low  voice, 
— "  I  believe  it  was  Pausanias." 

This  unexpected  sally,  instead  of  reinforcing  me,  threw  my 
tfhole  scheme  of  Ibattle  into  confusion,  and  the  Athenians  remain 
ed  unmolested  in  the  field. 

I  am  half  inclined,  since,  to  think  Mr.  Somerville  meant  this 
as  a  sly  hit  at  my  school-boy  pedantry ;  but  he  was  too  well  bred 
not  to  seek  to  relieve  me  from  my  mortification.  "  Oh  ! "  said  he, 
"  Julia  is  our  family  book  of  reference  for  names,  dates,  and  dis 
tances,  and  has  an  excellent  memory  for  history  and  geography." 

I  now  became  desperate ;  as  a  last  resource,  I  turned  to  meta 
physics.  "  If  she  is  a  philosopher  in  petticoats,"  thought  I,  "  it 
is  all  over  with  me." 

Here,  however,  I  had  the  field  to  myself.  I  gave  chapter  and 
verse  of  my  tutor's  lectures,  heightened  by  all  his  poetical  illus- 


92  MOUNTJOY. 


trations:  I  even  went  farther  than  he  had  ever  ventured,  and 
plunged  into  such  depths  of  metaphysics,  that  I  was  in  danger  of 
sticking  in  the  mire  at  the  bottom.  Fortunately,  I  had  auditors 
who  apparently  could  not  detect  my  flounderings.  Neither  Mr. 
Somerville  nor  his  daughter  offered  the  least  interruption. 

When  the  ladies  had  retired,  Mr.  Somerville  sat  some  time 
with  me ;  and  as  I  was  no  longer  anxious  to  astonish,  I  permitted 
myself  to  listen,  and  found  that  he  was  really  agreeable.     He  was 
quite  communicative,  and  from  his  conversation  I  was  enabled  to 
form  a  juster  idea  of  his  daughter's  character,  and  the  mode  in 
which  she  had  been  brought  up.     Mr.  Somerville  had  mingled 
much  with  the  world,  and  with  what  is  termed  fashionable  society. 
He  had  experienced  its  cold  elegancies,  and  gay  insincerities  ;  its 
dissipation  of  the  spirits,  and  squanderings  of  the  heart.     Like 
many  men  of  the  world,  though  he  had  wandered  too  far  from 
nature  ever  to  return  to  it,  yet  he  had  the  good  taste  and  good 
feeling  to  look  back  fondly  to  its  simple  delights,  and  to  determine 
that  his  child,  if  possible,  should  never  leave  them.     He  had  su 
perintended  her  education  with  scrupulous  care,  storing  her  mind 
with  the  graces  of  polite  literature,  and  with  such  knowledge  as 
would  enable  it  to  furnish  its  own  amusement  and  occupation, 
and  giving  her  all  the  accomplishments  that  sweeten  and  enliven 
the  circle  of  domestic  life.     He  had  been  particularly  sedulous  to 
exclude  all  fashionable  affectations ;  all  false  sentiment,  false  sen 
sibility,  and  false  romance.     "  Whatever  advantages  she  may  pos 
sess,"  said  he,  u  she  is  quite  unconscious  of  them.     She  is  a  ca 
pricious  little  being,  in  every  thing  but  her  affections;  she  is, 
however,  free  from  art :  simple,  ingenuous,  innocent,  amiable,  and, 
I  thank  God  !  happy." 


MOUNTJOY.  93 


Such  was  the  eulogy  of  a  fond  father,  delivered  with  a  tender 
ness  that  touched  me.  I  could  not  help  making  a  casual  inquiry, 
whether,  among  the  graces  of  polite  literature,  he  had  included  a 
slight  tincture  of  metaphysics.  He  smiled,  and  told  me  he  had 
not. 

On  the  whole,  when,  as  usual,  that  night,  I  summed  up  the 
day's  observations  on  my  pillow,  I  was  not  altogether  dissatisfied. 
"  Miss  Somerville,"  said  I,  "  loves  poetry,  and  I  like  her  the  bet 
ter  for  it.  She  has  the  advantage  of  me  in  Italian  :  agreed ;  what 
is  it  to  know  a  variety  of  languages,  but  merely  to  have  a  variety 
of  sounds  to  express  the  same  idea  ?  Original  thought  is  the  ore 
of  the  mind ;  language  is  but  the  accidental  stamp  and  coinage, 
by  which  it  is  put  into  circulation.  If  I  can  furnish  an  original 
idea,  what  care  I  how  many  languages  she  can  translate  it  into  ? 
She  may  be  able,  also,  to  quote  names,  and  dates,  and  latitudes, 
better  than  I ;  but  that  is  a  mere  effort  of  the  memory.  I  admit 
she  is  more  accurate  in  history  and  geography  than  I ;  but  then 
she  knows  nothing  of  metaphysics." 

I  had  now  sufficiently  recovered,  to  return  home;  yet  I 
could  not  think  of  leaving  Mr.  Somerville's,  without  having  a 
little  farther  conversation  with  him  on  the  subject  of  his  daughter's 
education. 

"  This  Mr.  Somerville,"  thought  I,  "  is  a  very  accomplished, 
elegant  man ;  he  has  seen  a  good  deal  of  the  world,  and,  upon  the 
whole,  has  profited  by  what  he  has  seen.  He  is  not  without  in 
formation,  and,  as  far  as  he  thinks,  appears  to  think  correctly; 
but  after  all,  he  is  rather  superficial,  and  does  not  think  pro 
foundly.  He  seems  to  take  no  delight  in  those  metaphysical 
abstractions,  that  are  the  proper  aliment  of  masculine  minds.  I 


94  MOUNTJOY. 


called  to  mind  various  occasions  in  which  I  had  indulged  largely 
in  metaphysical  discussions,  but  could  recollect  no  instance  where 
I  had  been  able  to  draw  him  out.  He  had  listened,  it  is  true, 
with  attention,  and  smiled  as  if  in  acquiescence,  but  had  always 
appeared  to  avoid  reply.  Besides,  I  had  made  several  sad  blunders 
in  the  glow  of  eloquent  declamation ;  but  he  had  never  interrupted 
me,  to  notice  and  correct  them,  as  he  would  have  done  had  he 
been  versed  in  the  theme. 

"  Now  it  is  really  a  great  pity,"  resumed  I,  "  that  he  should 
have  the  entire  management  of  Miss  Somerville's  education. 
What  a  vast  advantage  it  would  be,  if  she  could  be  put  for  a  little 
time  under  the  superintendence  of  Grlencoe.  He  would  throw 
some  deeper  shades  of  thought  into  her  mind,  which  at  present  is 
all  sunshine ;  not  but  that  Mr.  Somerville  has  done  very  well,  as 
far  as  he  has  gone ;  but  then  he  has  merely  prepared  the  soil  for 
the  strong  plants  of  useful  knowledge.  She  is  well  versed  in  the 
leading  facts  of  history,  and  the  general  course  of  belles-lettres," 
said  I;  "  a  little  more  philosophy  would  do  wonders." 

I  accordingly  took  occasion  to  ask  Mr.  Somerville  for  a  few 
moments'  conversation  in  his  study,  the  morning  I  was  to  depart. 
When  we  were  alone,  I  opened  the  matter  fully  to  him.  I  com 
menced  with  the  warmest  eulogium  of  Glencoe's  powers  of  mind, 
and  vast  acquirements,  and  ascribed  to  him  all  my  proficiency  in 
the  higher  branches  of  knowledge.  I  begged,  therefore,  to  recom 
mend  him  as  a  friend  calculated  to  direct  the  studies  of  Miss 
Somerville ;  to  lead  her  mind,  by  degrees  to  the  contemplation  of 
abstract  principles,  and  to  produce  habits  of  philosophical  analy 
sis  ;  "  which,"  added  I,  gently  smiling,  "  are  not  often  cultivated 
by  young  ladies.  "  I  ventured  to  hint,  in  addition,  that  he  would 


MOUNTJOY.  95 


find  Mr.  Grlencoe  a  most  valuable  and  interesting  acquaintance  for 
himself;  one  who  would  stimulate  and  evolve  the  powers  of  his 
mind  •  and  who  might  open  to  him  tracts  of  inquiry  and  specula 
tion,  to  which  perhaps  he  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 

Mr.  Somerville  listened  with  grave  attention.  When  I  had 
finished,  he  thanked  me  in  the  politest  manner  for  the  interest  I 
took  in  the  welfare  of  his  daughter  and  himself.  He  observed 
that,  as  regarded  himself,  he  was  afraid  he  was  too  old  to 
benefit  by  the  instructions  of  Mr.  Grlencoe,  and  that  as  to  his 
daughter,  he  was  afraid  her  mind  was  but  little  fitted  for  the 
study  of  metaphysics.  "  I  do  not  wish,"  continued  he,  "  to  strain 
her  intellects  with  subjects  they  cannot  grasp,  but  to  make  her 
familiarly  acquainted  with  those  that  are  within  the  limits  of  her 
capacity.  I  do  not  pretend  to  prescribe  the  boundaries  of  female 
genius,  and  am  far  from  indulging  the  vulgar  opinion,  that  women 
are  unfitted  by  nature  for  the  highest  intellectual  pursuits.  I  speak 
only  with  reference  to  my  daughter's  taste  and  talents.  She  will 
never  make  a  learned  woman ;  nor  in  truth  do  I  desire  it ;  for 
such  is  the  jealousy  of  our  sex,  as  to  mental  as  well  as  physical 
ascendency,  that  a  learned  woman  is  not  always  the  happiest.  I 
do  not  wish  my  daughter  to  excite  envy,  nor  to  battle  with  the 
prejudices  of  the  world ;  but  to  glide  peaceably  through  life,  on 
the  good  will  and  kind  opinion  of  her  friends.  She  has  ample 
employment  for  her  little  head,  in  the  course  I  have  marked  out 
for  her ;  and  is  busy  at  present  with  some  branches  of  natural 
history,  calculated  to  awaken  her  perceptions  to  the  beauties  and 
wonders  of  nature,  and  to  the  inexhaustible  volume  of  wisdom 
constantly  spread  open  before  her  eyes.  I  consider  that  woman 
most  likely  to  make  an  agreeable  companion,  who  can  draw  topics 


I 


%  MOUNTJOY. 

of  pleasing  remark  from  every  natural  object ;  and  most  likely  to 
be  cheerful  and  contented,  who  is  continually  sensible  of  the  order, 
the  harmony,  and  the  invariable  beneficence,  that  reign  through 
out  the  beautiful  world  we  inhabit." 

"  But,"  added  he,  smiling,  "  I  am  betraying  myself  into  a 
lecture,  instead  of  merely  giving  a  reply  to  your  kind  offer.  Per 
mit  me  to  take  the  liberty,  in  return,  of  inquiring  a  little  about 
your  own  pursuits.  You  speak  of  having  finished  your  education ; 
but  of  course  you  have  a  line  of  private  study  and  mental  occupa 
tion  ^marked  out;  for  you  must  know  the  importance,  both  in 
point  of  interest  and  happiness,  of  keeping  the  mind  employed. 
May  I  ask  what  system  you  observe  in  your  intellectual  exer 
cises?" 

"  Oh,  as  to  system,"  I  observed,  "  I  could  never  bring  myself 
into  any  thing  of  the  kind.  I  thought  it  best  to  let  my  genius 
take  its  own  course,  as  it  always  acted  the  most  vigorously  when 
stimulated  by  inclination." 

Mr.  Somerville  shook  his  head.  "  This  same  genius,"  said  he, 
"  is  a  wild  quality,  that  runs  away  with  our  most  promising  young 
men.  It  has  become  so  much  the  fashion,  too,  to  give  it  the 
reins,  that  it  is  now  thought  an  animal  of  too  noble  and  generous 
a  nature  to  be  brought  to  the  harness.  But  it  is  all  a  mistake. 
Nature  never  designed  these  high  endowments  to  run  riot  through 
society,  and  throw  the  whole  system  into  confusion.  No,  my  dear 
sir :  genius,  unless  it  acts  upon  system,  is  very  apt  to  be  a  useless 
quality  to  society ;  sometimes  an  injurious,  and  certainly  a  very 
uncomfortable  one,  to  its  .possessor.  I  have  had  many  opportu 
nities  of  seeing  the  progress  through  life  of  young  men  who  were 
accounted  geniuses,  and  have  found  it  too  often  end  in  early  ex- 


MOTJNTJOY.  97 


haustion  and  bitter  disappointment;  and  have  as  often  noticed 
that  these  effects  might  be  traced  to  a  total  want  of  system. 
There  were  no  habits  of  business,  of  steady  purpose,  and  regular 
application,  superinduced  upon  the  mind ;  every  thing  was  left  to 
chance  and  impulse,  and  native  luxuriance,  and  every  thing  of 
course  ran  to  waste  and  wild  entanglement.  Excuse  me,  if  I  am 
tedious  on  this  point,  for  I  feel  solicitous  to  impress  it  upon 
you,  being  an  error  extremely  prevalent  in  our  country,  and  one 
into  which  too  many  of  our  youth  have  fallen.  I  am  happy,  how 
ever,  to  observe  the  zeal  which  still  appears  to  actuate  you  for 
the  acquisition  of  knowledge,  and  augur  every  good  from  the  ele 
vated  bent  of  your  ambition.  May  I  ask  what  has  been  your 
course  of  study  for  the  last  six  months  ?  " 

Never  was  question  more  unluckily  timed.  For  the  last  six 
months  I  had  been  absolutely  buried  in  novels  and  romances. 

Mr.  Somerville  perceived  that  the  question  was  embarrassing, 
and  with  his  invariable  good  breeding,  immediately  resumed  the 
conversation,  without  waiting  for  a  reply.  He  took  care,  however, 
to  turn  it  in  such  a  way  as  to  draw  from  me  an  account  of  the 
whole  manner  in  which  I  had  been  educated,  and  the  various  cur 
rents  of  reading  into  which  my  mind  had  run.  He  then  went  or 
to  discuss  briefly,  but  impressively,  the  different  branches  of 
knowledge  most  important  to  a  young  man  in  my  situation ;  and 
to  my  surprise  I  found  him  a  complete  master  of  those  studies  on 
which  I  had  supposed  him  ignorant,  and  on  which  I  had  been  de 
scanting  so  confidently. 

He  complimented  me,  however,  very  graciously,  upon  the  pro 
gress  I  had  made,  but  advised  me  for  the  present  to  turn  my  at 
tention  to  the  physical  rather  than  the  moral  sciences.  "  These 
5 


98  MOUNTJOY. 


studies,"  said  he,  "  store  a  man's  mind  with  valuable  facts,  and  at 
the  same  time  repress  self-confidence,  by  letting  him  know  how 
boundless  are  the  realms  of  knowledge,  and  how  little  we  can  pos 
sibly  know.  Whereas  metaphysical  studies,  though  of  an  ingen 
ious  order  of  intellectual  employment,  are  apt  to  bewilder  some 
minds  with  vague  speculations.  They  never  know  how  far  they 
have  advanced,  or  what  may  be  the  correctness  of  their  favorite 
theory.  They  render  many  of  our  young  men  verbose  and  decla 
matory,  and  prone  to  mistake  the  aberrations  of  their  fancy  for 
the  inspirations  of  divine  philosophy." 

I  could  not  but  interrupt  him,  to  assent  to  the  truth  of  these 
remarks,  and  to  say  that  it  had  been  my  lot,  in  the  course  of  my 
limited  experience,  to  encounter  young  men  of  the  kind,  who  had 
overwhelmed  me  by  their  verbosity. 

Mr.  Somerville  smiled.  "  I  trust,"  said  he,  kindly,  "  that  you 
will  guard  against  these  errors.  Avoid  the  eagerness  with  which 
a  young  man  is  apt  to  hurry  into  conversation,  and  to  utter  the 
crude  and  ill-digested  notions  which  he  has  picked  up  in  his  re 
cent  studies.  Be  assured  that  extensive  and  accurate  knowledge 
is  the  slow  acquisition  of  a  studious  lifetime ;  that  a  young  man, 
however  pregnant  his  wit,  and  prompt  his  talent,  can  have  master 
ed  but  the  rudiments  of  learning,  and,  in  a  manner,  attained  the 
implements  of  study.  Whatever  may  have  been  your  past  assi 
duity,  you  must  be  sensible  that  as  yet  you  have  but  reached  the 
threshold  of  true  knowledge ;  but  at  the  same  time,  you  have  the 
advantage  that  you  are  still  very  young,  and  have  ample  time  to 
learn." 

Here  our  conference  ended.  I  walked  out  of  the  study,  a  very 
different  being  from  what  I  was  on  entering  it.  I  had  gone  in 


MOUNTJOY.  99 


with  the  air  of  a  professor  about  to  deliver  a  lecture ;  I  came  out 
like  a  student,  who  had  failed  in  his  examination,  and  been  de 
graded  in  his  class. 

"  Very  young,"  and  "  on  the  threshold  of  knowledge !  "  This 
was  extremely  nattering,  to  one  who  had  considered  himself  an 
accomplished  scholar,  and  profound  philosopher  ! 

"  It  is  singular,"  thought  I ;  "  there  seems  to  have  been  a  spell 
upon  my  faculties,  ever  since  I  have  been  in  this  house.  I  cer 
tainly  have  not  been  able  to  do  myself  justice.  Whenever  I 
have  undertaken  to  advise,  I  have  had  the  tables  turned  upon  me. 
It  must  be  that  I  am  strange  and  diffident  among  people  I  am 
not  accustomed  to.  I  wish  they  could  hear  me  talk  at  home  ! " 

"  After  all,"  added  I,  on  farther  reflection, — "  after  all,  there  is 
a  great  deal  of  force  in  what  Mr.  Somerville  has  said.  Some 
how  or  other,  these  men  of  the  world  do  now  and  then  hit  upon 
remarks  that  would  do  credit  to  a  philosopher.  Some  of  his 
general  observations  came  so  home,  that  I  almost  thought  they 
were  meant  for  myself.  His  advice  about  adopting  a  system  of 
study,  is  very  judicious.  I  will  immediately  put  it  in  practice. 
My  mind  shall  operate  henceforward  with  the  regularity  of  clock 
work." 

How  far  I  succeeded  hi  adopting  this  plan,  how  I  fared  in  the 
farther  pursuit  of  knowledge,  and  how  I  succeeded  in  my  suit  to 
Julia  Somerville,  may  afford  matter  for  a  farther  communication 
to  the  public,  if  this  simple  record  of  my  early  life  is  fortunate 
enough  to  excite  any  curiosity. 


THE  BERMUDAS. 

A      SHAKSPEARIAN      RESEARCH 

"  "Who  did  not  think,  till  within  these  foure  yeares,but  that  these  islands  had  been  rather 

a  habitation  for  Divells,  than  fit  for  men  to  dwell  in  ?    Who  did  not  hate  the  name,  when 

hee  was  on  land,  and  shun  the  place  when  he  was  on  the  seas  ?    But  behold  the  misprision 

,  and  conceits  of  the  world !    For  true  and  large  experience  hath  now  told  us,  it  is  one  of  the 

sweetest  paradises  that  be  upon  earth." 

"A  PLAINS  DESCKIPT.  OF  THE  BABMUDAS:"  1618. 

IN  the  course  of  a  voyage  home  from  England,  our  ship  had 
been  struggling,  for  two  or  three  weeks,  with  perverse  head-winds, 
and  a  stormy  sea.  It  was  in  the  month  of  May,  yet  the  weather 
had  at  times  a  wintry  sharpness,  and  it  was  apprehended  that  we 
were  in  the  neighborhood  of  floating  islands  of  ice,  which  at  that 
season  of  the  year  drift  out  of  the  Grulf  of  Saint  Lawrence,  and 
sometimes  occasion  the  wreck  of  noble  ships. 

Wearied  out  by  the  continued  opposition  of  the  elements,  our 
captain  bore  away  to  the  south,  in  hopes  of  catching  the  expiring 
breath  of  the  trade-winds,  and  making  what  is  called  the  southern 
passage.  A  few  days  wrought,  as  it  were,  a  magical  "  sea  change  " 
in  every  thing  around  us.  We  seemed  to  emerge  into  a  different 
world.  The  late  dark  and  angry  sea,  lashed  up  into  roaring  and 
swashing  surges,  became  calm  and  sunny;  the  rude  winds  died 


THE  BERMUDAS.  101 


away ;  and  gradually  a  light  breeze  sprang  up  directly  aft,  filling 
out  every  sail,  and  wafting  us  smoothly  along  on  an  even  keel. 
The  air  softened  into  a  bland  and  delightful  temperature.  Dol 
phins  began  to  play  about  us ;  the  nautilus  came  floating  by,  like 
a  fairy  ship,  with  its  mimic  sail  and  rainbow  tints ;  and  flying- 
fish,  from  time  to  time,  made  their  short  excursive  flights,  and 
occasionally  fell  upon  the  deck.  The  cloaks  and  overcoats  in 
which  we  had  hitherto  wrapped  ourselves,  and  moped  about  the 
vessel,  were  thrown  aside  ;  for  a  summer  warmth  had  succeeded 
to  the  late  wintry  chills.  Sails  were  stretched  as  awniogs  over 
the  quarter-deck,  to  protect  us  from  the  mid-day  sun.  Under 
these  we  lounged  away  the  day,  in  luxurious  indolence,  musing, 
with  half-shut  eyes,  upon  the  quiet  ocean.  The  night  was  scarcely 
less  beautiful  than  the  day.  The  rising  moon  sent  a  quivering 
column  of  silver  along  the  undulating  surface  of  the  deep,  and, 
gradually  climbing  the  heaven,  lit  up  our  towering  topsails  and 
swelling  mainsails,  and  spread  a  pale,  mysterious  light  around. 
As  our  ship  made  her  whispering  way  through  this  dreamy  world 
of  waters,  every  boisterous  sound  on  board  was  charmed  to 
silence ;  and  the  low  whistle,  or  drowsy  song,  of  a  sailor  from  the 
forecastle,  or  the  tinkling  of  a  guitar,  and  the  soft  warbling  of  a 
female  voice  from  the  quarter-deck,  seemed  to  derive  a  witching 
melody  from  the  scene  and  hour.  I  was  reminded  of  Oberon's 
exquisite  description  of  music  and  moonlight  on  the  ocean : 

"  Thou  rememberest 

Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory, 
And  heard  a  mermaid  on  a  dolphin's  back, 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song ; 


102  THE  BERMUDAS. 


And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music." 

Indeed,  I  was  in  the  very  mood  to  conjure  up  all  the  imagi 
nary  beings  with  which  poetry  has  peopled  old  ocean,  and  almost 
ready  to  fancy  I  heard  the  distant  song  of  the  mermaid,  or  the 
mellow  shell  of  the  triton,  and  to  picture  to  myself  Neptune  and 
Amphitrite  with  all  their  pageant  sweeping  along  the  dim  horizon. 

A  day  or  two  of  such  fanciful  voyaging,  brought  us  in  sight 
of  the  Bermudas,  which  first  looked  like  mere  summer  clouds, 
peering  above  the  quiet  ocean.  All  day  we  glided  along  in  sight 
of  them,  with  just  wind  enough  to  fill  our  sails ;  and  never  did 
land  appear  more  lovely.  They  were  clad  in  emerald  verdure,  be 
neath  the  serenest  of  skies :  not  an  angry  wave  broke  upon  their 
quiet  shores,  and  small  fishing  craft,  riding  on  the  crystal  waves, 
seemed  as  if  hung  in  air.  It  was  such  a  scene  that  Fletcher  pictur 
ed  to  himself,  when  he  extolled  the  halcyon  lot  of  the  fisherman : 

Ah !  would  thou  knewest  how  much  it  better  were 

To  bide  among  the  simple  fisher-swains : 
No  shrieking  owl,  no  night-crow  lodgeth  here, 

Nor  is  our  simple  pleasure  mixed  with  pains. 
Our  sports  begin  with  the  beginning  year ; 
In  calms,  to  pull  the  leaping  fish  to  land, 
In  roughs,  to  sing  and  dance  along  the  yellow  sand. 

In  contemplating  these  beautiful  islands,  and  the  peaceful  sea 
around  them,  I  could  hardly  realize  that  these  were  the  "  still 
vexed  Bermoothes  "  of  Shakspeare,  once  the  dread  of  mariners, 
and  infamous  in  the  narratives  of  the  early  discoverers,  for  the 
dangers  and  disasters  which  beset  them.  Such,  however,  was  the 


THE  BERMUDAS.  103 


ease ;  and  the  islands  derived  additional  interest  in  my  eyes,  from 
fancying  that  I  could  trace  in  their  early  history,  and  in  the  super 
stitious  notions  connected  with  them,  some  of  the  elements  of 
Shakspeare's  wild  and  beautiful  drama  of  the  Tempest.  I  shall 
take  the  liberty  of  citing  a  few  historical  facts,  in  support  of  this 
idea,  which  may  claim  some  additional  attention  from  the  Ameri 
can  reader,  as  being  connected  with  the  first  settlement  of  Virginia. 

At  the  time  when  Shakspeare  was  in  the  fulness  of  his  talent, 
and  seizing  upon  every  thing  that  could  furnish  aliment  to  his  im 
agination,  the  colonization  of  Virginia  was  a  favorite  object  of 
enterprise  among  people  of  condition  in  England,  and  several  of 
the  courtiers  of  the  court  of  Queen  Elizabeth  were  personally  en 
gaged  in  it.  In  the  year  1609,  a  noble  armament  of  nine  ships 
and  five  hundred  men  sailed  for  the  relief  of  the  colony.  It  was 
commanded  by  Sir  George  Somers,  as  admiral,  a  gallant  and  gen 
erous  gentleman,  above  sixty  years  of  age,  and  possessed  of  an 
ample  fortune,  yet  still  bent  upon  hardy  enterprise,  and  ambitious 
of  signalizing  himself  in  the  service  of  his  country. 

On  board  of  his  flag-ship,  the  Sea- Vulture,  sailed  also  Sir 
Thomas  Gates,  lieutenant-general  of  the  colony.  The  voyage  was 
long  and  boisterous.  On  the  twenty-fifth  of  July,  the  admiral's 
ship  was  separated  from  the  rest  in  a  hurricane.  For  several 
days  she  was  driven  about  at  the  mercy  of  the  elements,  and  so 
strained  and  racked,  that  her  seams  yawned  open,  and  her  hold 
was  half  filled  with  water.  The  storm  subsided,  but  left  her  a 
mere  foundering  wreck.  The  crew  stood  in  the  hold  to  their 
waists  in  water,  vainly  endeavoring  to  bail  her  with  kettles, 
buckets,  and  other  vessels.  The  leaks  rapidly  gained  on  them, 
while  their  strength  was  as  rapidly  declining.  They  lost  all  hope 


104  THE  BERMUDAS. 


of  keeping  the  ship  afloat,  until  they  should  reach  the  American 
coast ;  and  wearied  with  fruitless  toil,  determined,  in  their  despair, 
to  give  up  all  farther  attempt,  shut  down  the  hatches,  and  abandon 
themselves  to  Providence.  Some,  who  had  spirituous  liquors,  or 
"  comfortable  waters,"  as  the  old  record  quaintly  terms  them, 
brought  them  forth,  and  shared  them  with  their  comrades,  and 
they  all  drank  a  sad  farewell  to  one  another,  as  men  who  were 
soon  to  part  company  in  this  world. 

In  this  moment  of  extremity,  the  worthy  admiral,  who  kept 
sleepless  watch  from  the  high  stern  of  the  vessel,  gave  the  thrill 
ing  cry  of  "  land !  "  All  rushed  on  deck,  in  a  frenzy  of  joy,  and 
nothing  now  was  to  be  seen  or  heard  on  board,  but  the  transports 
of  men  who  felt  as  if  rescued  from  the  grave.  It  is  true  the  land 
in  sight  would  not,  in  ordinary  circumstances,  have  inspired  much 
self-gratulation.  It  could  be  nothing  else  but  the  group  of  isl 
ands  called  after  their  discoverer,  one  Juan  Bermudas,  a  Span 
iard,  but  stigmatized  among  the  mariners  of  those  days  as  "  the 
islands  of  devils !  "  "  For  the  islands  of  the  Bermudas,"  says 
the  old  narrative  of  this  voyage,  "  as  every  man  knoweth  that 
hath  heard  or  read  of  them,  were  never  inhabited  by  any  chris- 
tian  or  heathen  people,  but  were  ever  esteemed  and  reputed  a 
most  prodigious  and  inchanted  place,  affording  nothing  but  gusts, 
stormes,  and  foul  weather,  which  made  every  navigator  and  mari 
ner  to  avoide  them  as  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  or  as  they  would 
shun  the  Divell  himself."  * 

Sir  George  Somers  and  his  tempest-tossed  comrades,  however, 
hailed  them  with  rapture,  as  if  they  had  been  a  terrestrial  para 
dise.     Every  sail  was  spread,  and  every  exertion  made  to  urge 
*  "  A  Plaine  Description  of  the  Barmudas." 


THE  BERMUDAS.  105 


the  foundering  ship  to  land.  Before  long,  she  struck  upon  a  rock. 
Fortunately,  the  late  stormy  winds  had  subsided,  and  there  was 
no  surf.  A  swelling  wave  lifted  her  from  off  the  rock,  and  bore 
her  to  another ;  and  thus  she  was  borne  on  from  rock  to  rock, 
until  she  remained  wedged  between  two,  as  firmly  as  if  set  upon 
the  stocks.  The  boats  were  immediately  lowered,  and,  though 
the  shore  was  above  a  mile  distant,  the  whole  crew  were  landed 
in  safety. 

Every  one  had  now  his  task  assigned  him.  Some  made  all 
haste  to  unload  the  ship,  before  she  should  go  to  pieces ;  some 
constructed  wigwams  of  palmetto  leaves,  and  others  ranged  the 
island  in  quest  of  wood  and  water.  To  their  surprise  and  joy, 
they  found  it  far  different  from  the  desolate  and  frightful  place 
they  had  been  taught  by  seamen's  stories  to  expect.  It  was  well 
wooded  and  fertile ;  there  were  birds  of  various  kinds,  and  herds 
of  swine  roaming  about,  the  progeny  of  a  number  that  had  swum 
ashore,  in  former  years,  from  a  Spanish  wreck.  The  island 
abounded  with  turtle,  and  great  quantities  of  their  eggs  were  to 
be  found  among  the  rocks.  The  bays  and  inlets  were  full  of  fish ; 
so  tame,  that  if  any  one  stepped  into  the  water,  they  would 
throng  around  him.  Sir  George  Somers,  in  a  little  while,  caught 
enough  with  hook  and  line  to  furnish  a  meal  to  his  whole  ship's 
company.  Some  of  them  were  so  large,  that  two  were  as  much 
as  a  man  could  carry.  Craw-fish,  also,  were  taken  in  abundance. 
The  air  was  soft  and  salubrious,  and  the  sky  beautifully  serene. 
Waller,  in  his  "  Summer  Islands, '  has  given  us  a  faithful  picture 
of  the  climate : 

"  For  the  kind  spring,  (which  but  salutes  us  here,) 
Inhabits  these,  and  courts  them  all  the  year : 

5* 


106  THE  BERMUDAS. 


Ripe  fruits  and  blossoms  on  the  same  trees  live ; 
At  once  they  promise,  and  at  once  they  give : 
So  sweet  the  air,  so  moderate  the  clime, 
None  sickly  lives,  or  dies  before  his  time. 
Heaven  sure  has  kept  this  spot  of  earth  uncursed, 
To  show  how  all  things  were  created  first." 

We  may  imagine  the  feelings  of  the  shipwrecked  mariners,  on 
finding  themselves  cast  by  stormy  seas  upon  so  happy  a  coast ; 
where  abundance  was  to  be  had  without  labor;  where  what  in 
other  climes  constituted  the  costly  luxuries  of  the  rich,  were  with 
in  every  man's  reach  :  and  where  life  promised  to  be  a  mere  holi 
day.  Many  of  the  common  sailors,  especially,  declared  they  de 
sired  no  better  lot  than  to  pass  the  rest  of  their  lives  on  this  fa 
vored  island. 

The  commanders,  however,  were  not  so  ready  to  console  them 
selves  with  mere  physical  comforts,  for  the  severance  from  the 
enjoyment  of  cultivated  life,  and  all  the  objects  of  honorable  am 
bition.  Despairing  of  the  arrival  of  any  chance  ship  on  these 
shunned  and  dreaded  islands,  they  fitted  out  the  long-boat,  mak 
ing  a  deck  of  the  ship's  hatches,  and  having  manned  her  with 
eight  picked  men,  despatched  her,  under  the  command  of  an  able 
and  hardy  mariner,  named  Raven,  to  proceed  to  Yirginia,  and 
procure  shipping  to  be  sent  to  their  relief. 

While  waiting  in  anxious  idleness  for  the  arrival  of  the  looked- 
for  aid,  dissensions  arose  between  Sir  George  Somers  and  Sir 
Thomas  Gates,  originating,  very  probably,  in  jealousy  of  the  lead 
which  the  nautical  experience  and  professional  station  of  the  ad 
miral  gave  him  in  the  present  emergency.  Each  commander  of 
course  had  his  adherents :  these  dissensions  ripened  into  a  com- 


THE  BERMUDAS.  107 


plete  schism ;  and  this  handful  of  shipwrecked  men,  thus  thrown 
together  on  an  uninhabited  island,  separated  into  two  parties,  and 
lived  asunder  in  bitter  feud,  as  men  rendered  fickle  by  prosperity, 
instead  of  being  brought  into  brotherhood  by  a  common  calamity. 

Weeks  and  months  elapsed,  without  bringing  the  looked-for 
aid  from  Yirginia,  though  that  colony  was  within  but  a  few  days' 
sail.  Fears  were  now  entertained  that  the  long-boat  had  been 
either  swallowed  up  in  the  sea,  or  wrecked  on  some  savage  coast ; 
one  or  other  of  which  most  probably  was  the  case,  as  nothing  was 
ever  heard  of  Haven  and  his  comrades. 

Each  party  now  set  to  work  to  build  a  vessel  for  itself  out  of 
the  cedar  with  which  the  island  abounded.  The  wreck  of  the 
Sea- Vulture  furnished  rigging,  and  various  other  articles ;  but 
they  had  no  iron  for  bolts,  and  other  fastenings ;  and  for  want  of 
pitch  and  tar,  they  payed  the  seams  of  their  vessels  with  lime  and 
turtle's  oil,  which  soon  dried,  and  became  as  hard  as  stone. 

On  the  tenth  of  may,  1610,  they  set  sail,  having  been  about 
nine  months  on  the  island.  They  reached  Yirginia  without  far 
ther  accident,  but  found  the  colony  in  great  distress  for  provisions. 
The  account  that  they  gave  of  the  abundance  that  reigned  in  the 
Bermudas,  and  especially  of  the  herds  of  swine  that  roamed  the 
island,  determined  Lord  Delaware,  the  governor  of  Virginia,  to 
send  thither  for  supplies.  Sir  George  Somers,  with  his  wonted 
promptness  and  generosity,  offered  to  undertake  what  was  still 
considered  a  dangerous  voyage.  Accordingly  on  the  nineteenth 
of  June,  he  set  sail,  in  his  own  cedar  vessel  of  thirty  tons,  ac 
companied  by  another  small  vessel,  commanded  by  Captain  Ar- 
gall. 

The  gallant  Somers  was  doomed  again  to  be  tempest-tossed. 


108  THE  BERMUDAS. 


His  companion  vessel  was  soon  driven  back  to  port,  but  he  kept 
the  sea  ;  and,  as  usual,  remained  at  his  post  on  deck,  in  all  wea 
thers.  His  voyage  was  long  and  boisterous,  and  the  fatigues  and 
exposures  which  he  underwent,  were  too  much  for  a  frame  impair 
ed  by  age,  and  by  previous  hardships.  He  arrived  at  Bermudas 
completely  exhausted  and  broken  down.. 

His  nephew,  Captain  Matthew  Somers,  attended  him  in  his 
illness  with  affectionate  assiduity.  Finding  his  end  approaching, 
the  veteran  called  his  men  together,  and  exhorted  them  to  be  true 
to  the  interests  of  Virginia ;  to  procure  provisions,  with  all  pos 
sible  despatch,  and  hasten  back  to  the  relief  of  the  colony. 

With  this  dying  charge,  he  gave  up  the  ghost,  leaving  his  ne 
phew  and  crew  overwhelmed  with  grief  and  consternation.  Their 
first  thought  was  to  pay  honor  to  his  remains.  Opening  the  body, 
they  took  out  the  heart  and  entrails,  and  buried  them,  erecting  a 
cross  over  the  grave.  They  then  embalmed  the  body,  and  set  sail 
with  it  for  England ;  thus,  while  paying  empty  honors  to  their 
deceased  commander,  neglecting  his  earnest  wish  and  dying  in 
junction,  that  they  should  return  with  relief  to  Virginia. 

The  little  bark  arrived  safely  at  Whitechurch  in  Dorsetshire, 
with  its  melancholy  freight.  The  body  of  the  worthy  Somers 
was  interred  with  the  military  honors  due  to  a  brave  soldier,  and 
many  volleys  fired  over  his  grave.  The  Bermudas  have  since  re 
ceived  the  name  of  the  Somer  Islands,  as  a  tribute  to  his  me 
mory. 

The  accounts  given  by  Captain  Matthew  Somers  and  his  crew 
of  the  delightful  climate,  and  the  great  beauty,  fertility,  and 
abundance  of  these  islands,  excited  the  zeal  of  enthusiasts,  and 
the  cupidity  of  speculators,  and  a  plan  was  set  on  foot  to  colonize 


THE  BERMUDAS.  109 


them.  The  Virginia  company  sold  their  right  to  the  islands  to 
one  hundred  and  twenty  of  their  own  members,  who  erected 
themselves  into  a  distinct  corporation,  under  the  name  of  the  "  So- 
mer  Island  Society ;  "  and  Mr.  Richard  More  was  sent  out,  in 
1612,  as  governor,  with  sixty  men,  to  found  a  colony:  and  this 
leads  me  to  the  second  branch  of  this  research. 


THE  THREE  KINGS  OF  BERMUDA. 

AND   THEIB    TEEASUEE   OF   AMBEEGEIS. 

At  the  time  that  Sir  George  Somers  was  preparing  to  launch 
his  cedar-built  bark,  and  sail  for  Virginia,  there  were  three  cul 
prits  among  his  men,  who  had  been  guilty  of  capital  offences. 
One  of  them  was  shot;  the  others,  named  Christopher  Carter 
and  Edward  Waters,  escaped.  Waters,  indeed,  made  a  very  nar 
row  escape,  for  he  had  actually  been  tied  to  a  tree  to  be  executed, 
but  cut  the  rope  with  a  knife,  which  he  had  concealed  about  his 
person,  and  fled  to  the  woods,  where  he  was  joined  by  Carter. 
These  two  worthies  kept  themselves  concealed  in  the  secret  parts 
of  the  island,  until  the  departure  of  the  two  vessels.  When  Sir 
George  Somers  revisited  the  island,  in  quest  of  supplies  for  the 
Virginia  colony,  these  culprits  hovered  about  the  landing-place, 
and  succeeded  in  persuading  another  seaman,  named  Edward 
Chard,  to  join  them,  giving  him  the  most  seductive  picture  of  the 
ease  and  abundance  in  which  they  revelled. 

When  the  bark  that  bore  Sir  George's  body  to  England  had 
faded  from  the  watery  horizon,  these  three  vagabonds  walked 
forth  in  their  majesty  and  might,  the  lords  and  sole  inhabitants 


110  THE  BERMUDAS. 


of  these  islands.  For  a  time  their  little  commonwealth  went  on 
prosperously  and  happily.  They  built  a  house,  sowed  corn,  and 
the  seeds  of  various  fruits ;  and  having  plenty  of  hogs,  wild  fowl, 
and  fish  of  all  kinds,  with  turtle  in  abundance,  carried  on  their 
tripartite  sovereignty  with  great  harmony  and  much  feasting.  All 
kingdoms,  however,  are  doomed  to  revolution,  convulsion,  or  de 
cay  ;  and  so  it  fared  with  the  empire  of  the  three  kings  of  Ber 
muda,  albeit  they  were  monarchs  without  subjects.  In  an  evil 
hour,  in  their  search  after  turtle,  among  the  fissures  of  the  rocks, 
they  came  upon  a  great  treasure  of  ambergris,  which  had  been 
cast  on  shore  by  the  ocean.  Besides  a  number  of  pieces  of 
smaller  dimensions,  there  was  one  great  mass,  the  largest  that 
had  ever  been  known,  weighing  eighty  pounds,  and  which  of  itself, 
according  to  the  market  value  of  ambergris  in  those  days,  was 
worth  about  nine  or  ten  thousand  pounds. 

From  that  moment  the  happiness  and  harmony  of  the  three 
kings  of  Bermuda  were  gone  for  ever.  While  poor  devils,  with 
nothing  to  share  but  the  common  blessings  of  the  island,  which 
administered  to  present  enjoyment,  but  had  nothing  of  converti 
ble  value,  they  were  loving  and  united  ;  but  here  was  actual  wealth, 
which  would  make  them  rich  men,  whenever  they  could  transport 
it  to  market. 

Adieu  the  delights  of  the  island  !  They  now  became  flat  and 
insipid.  Each  pictured  to  himself  the  consequence  he  might  now 
aspire  to,  in  civilized  life,  could  he  once  get  there  with  this  mass 
of  ambergris.  No  longer  a  poor  Jack  Tar,  frolicking  in  the  low 
taverns  of  Wapping,  he  might  roll  through  London  in  his  coach, 
and  perchance  arrive,  like  Whittington,  at  the  dignity  of  Lord 
Mayor. 


THE  BERMUDAS.  Ill 


With  riches  came  envy  and  covetousness.  Each  was  now  for 
assuming  the  supreme  power,  and  getting  the  monopoly  of  the 
ambergris.  A  civil  war  at  length  broke  out :  Chard  and  Waters 
defied  each  other  to  mortal  combat,  and  the  kingdom  of  the  Bermu 
das  was  on  the  point  of  being  deluged  with  royal  blood.  Fortunate 
ly,  Carter  took  no  part  in  the  bloody  feud.  Ambition  might  have 
made  him  view  it  with  secret  exultation  ;  for  if  either  or  both  of 
his  brother  potentates  were  slain  in  the  conflict,  he  would  be  a 
gainer  in  purse  and  ambergris.  But  he  dreaded  to  be  left  alone 
in  this  uninhabited  island,  and  to  find  himself  the  monarch  of  a 
solitude :  so  he  secretly  purloined  and  hid  the  weapons  of  the 
belligerent  rivals,  who,  having  no  means  of  carrying  on  the  war, 
gradually  cooled  down  into  a  sullen  armistice. 

The  arrival  of  Governor  More,  with  an  overpowering  force  of 
sixty  men,  put  an  end  to  the  empire.  He  took  possession  of  the 
kingdom,  in  the  name  of  the  Somer  Island  Company,  and  forthwith 
proceeded  to  make  a  settlement.  The  three  kings  tacitly  relin 
quished  their  sway,  but  stood  up  stoutly  for  their  treasure.  It 
was  determined,  however,  that  they  had  been  fitted  out  at  the  ex 
pense,  and  employed  in  the  service,  of  the  Virginia  Company; 
that  they  had  found  the  ambergris  while  in  the  service  of  that 
company,  and  on  that  company's  land ;  that  the  ambergris  there 
fore  belonged  to  that  company,  or  rather  to  the  Somer  Island 
Company,  in  consequence  of  their  recent  purchase  of  the  island^ 
and  all  their  appurtenances.  Having  thus  legally  established 
their  right,  and  being  moreover  able  to  back  it  by  might,  the 
company  laid  the  lion's  paw  upon  the  spoil ;  and  nothing  more 
remains  on  historic  record  of  the  Three  Kings  of  Bermuda,  and 
their  treasure  of  ambergris. 


112  THE  BERMUDAS. 


The  reader  will  now  determine  whether  I  am  more  extrava 
gant  than  most  of  the  commentators  on  Shakespeare,  in  my  sur 
mise  that  the  story  of  Sir  George  Somers'  shipwreck,  and  the  sub 
sequent  occurrences  that  took  place  on  the  uninhabited  island 
may  have  furnished  the  bard  with  some  of  the  elements  of  his 
drama  of  the  Tempest.  The  tidings  of  the  shipwreck,  and  of 
the  incidents  connected  with  it,  reached  England  not  long  before 
the  production  of  this  drama,  and  made  a  great  sensation  there. 
A  narrative  of  the  whole  matter,  from  which  most  of  the  forego 
ing  particulars  are  extracted,  was  published  at  the  time  in  Lon 
don,  in  a  pamphlet  form,  and  could  not  fail  to  be  eagarly  perused 
by  Shakespeare,  and  to  make  a  vivid  impression  on  his  fancy. 
His  expression,  in  the  Tempest,  of  "  the  still  vext  Bermoothes," 
accords  exactly  with  the  storm-beaten  character  of  those  islands. 
The  enchantments,  too,  with  which  he  has  clothed  the  island  of 
Prospero,  may  they  not  be  traced  to  the  wild  and  superstitious 
notions  entertained  about  the  Bermudas  ?  I  have  already  cited 
two  passages  from  a  pamphlet  published  at  the  time,  showing 
that  they  were  esteemed  "  a  most  prodigious  and  inclianted  place," 
and  the  "  habitation  of  divells  ;"  and  another  pamphlet,  published 
shortly  afterward,  observes :  "  And  whereas  it  is  reported  that 
this  land  of  the  Barmudas,  with  the  islands  about,  (which  are 
many,  at  least  an  hundred),  are  inchanted,  and  kept  with  evil  and 
wicked  spirits,  it  is  a  most  idle  false  report."  * 

The  description,  too,  given  in  the  same  pamphlets,  of  the  real 
beauty  and  fertility  of  the  Bermudas,  and  of  their  serene  and 

*  "Newes  from  the  Barmudas:  "  1612. 


THE  BERMUDAS.  113 


happy  climate,  so  opposite  to  the  dangerous  and  inhospitable  char 
acter  with  which  they  had  been  stigmatized,  accords  with  the  eu- 
logium  of  Sebastian  on  the  island  of  Prospero. 

"  Though  this  island  seem  to  be  desert,  uninhabitable,  and  almost  inac 
cessible,  it  must  needs  be  of  subtle,  tender,  and  delicate  temperance.  The 
air  breathes  upon  us  here  most  sweetly.  Here  is  every  thing  advantageous 
to  life.  How  lush  and  lusty  the  grass  looks  !  how  green  1 " 

I  think  too,  in  the  exulting  consciousness  of  ease,  security, 
and  abundance,  felt  by  the  late  tempest-tossed  mariners,  while 
revelling  in  the  plenteousness  of  the  island,  and  their  inclination 
to  remain  there,  released  from  the  labors,  the  cares,  and  the  ar 
tificial  restraints  of  civilized  life,  I  can  see  something  of  the  gol 
den  commonwealth  of  honest  Gonzalo  : 

"  Had  I  a  plantation  of  this  isle,  my  lord, 
And  were  the  king  of  it,  what  would  I  do  ? 
1'  the  commonwealth  I  would  by  contraries 
Execute  all  things :  for  no  kind  of  traffic 
"Would  I  admit ;  no  name  of  magistrate : 
Letters  should  not  be  known ;  riches,  poverty, 
And  use  of  service,  none ;  contract,  succession, 
Bourn,  bound  of  land,  tilth,  vineyard,  none : 
No  use  of  metal,  corn,  or  wine,  or  oil : 
No  occupation ;  all  men  idle,  alL 
*  *  *  *  * 

All  things  in  common,  nature  should  produce, 
Without  sweat  or  endeavor :  Treason,  felony, 
Sword,  pike,  knife,  gun,  or  need  of  any  engine, 
"Would  I  not  have ;  but  nature  should  bring  forth, 
Of  its  own  kind  all  foizon,  all  abundance, 
To  feed  my  innocent  people." 


114  THE  BERMUDAS. 


But  above  all,  in  the  three  fugitive  vagabonds  who  remained 
in  possession  of  the  island  of  Bermuda,  on  the  departure  of  their 
comrades,  and  in  their  squabbles  about  supremacy,  on  the  finding 
of  their,  treasure,  I  see  typified  Sebastian,  Trinculo,  and  their 
worthy  companion  Caliban : 

"  Trinculo,  the  king  and  all  our  company  heing  drowned,  we  will  in 
herit  here." 

"  Monster,  I  will  kill  this  man ;  his  daughter  and  I  will  be  king  and 
queen,  (save  our  graces!)  and  Trinculo  and  thyself  shall  be  viceroys." 

I  do  not  mean  to  hold  up  the  incidents  and  characters  in  the 
narrative  and  in  the  play  as  parallel,  or  as  being  strikingly  simi 
lar  :  neither  would  I  insinuate  that  the  narrative  suggested  the 
play;  I  would  only  suppose  that  Shakespeare,  being  occupied 
about  that  time  on  the  drama  of  the  Tempest,  the  main  story  of 
which,  I  believe,  is  of  Italian  origin,  had  many  of  the  fanciful 
ideas  of  it  suggested  to  his  mind  by  the  shipwreck  of  Sir  George 
Somers  on  the  "  still  vext  Bermoothes,"  and  by  the  popular  super 
stitions  connected  with  these  islands,  and  suddenly  put  in  circula 
tion  by  that  event. 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL, 

OE 
A    JUDICIAL     TRIAL     BY    COMBAT. 

THE  world  is  daily  growing  older  and  wiser.  Its  institutions 
vary  with  its  years,  and  mark  its  growing  wisdom  ;  and  none 
more  so  than  its  modes  of  investigating  truth,  and  ascertaining 
guilt  or  innocence.  In  its  nonage,  when  man  was  yet  a  fallible 
being,  and  doubted  the  accuracy  of  his  own  intellect,  appeals 
were  made  to  heaven  in  dark  and  doubtful  cases  of  atrocious  ac 
cusation. 

The  accused  was  required  to  plunge  his  hand  in  boiling  oil,  or 
to  walk  across  red-hot  ploughshares,  or  to  maintain  his  innocence 
in  armed  fight  and  listed  field,  in  person  or  by  champion.  If  he 
passed  these  ordeals  unscathed,  he  stood  acquitted,  and  the  result 
was  regarded  as  a  verdict  from  on  high. 

It  is  somewhat  remarkable  that,  in  the  gallant  age  of  chival 
ry,  the  gentler  sex  should  have  been  most  frequently  the  subjects 
of  these  rude  trials  and  perilous  ordeals ;  and  that,  too,  when  as 
sailed  in  their  most  delicate  and  vulnerable  part — their  honor. 

In  the  present  very  old  and  enlightened  age  of  the  world, 


116  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


when  the  human  intellect  is  perfectly  competent  to  the  manage 
ment  of  its  own  concerns,  and  needs  no  special  interposition  of 
heaven  in  its  affairs,  the  trial  by  jury  has  superseded  these  super 
human  ordeals ;  and  the  unanimity  of  twelve  discordant  minds  is 
necessary  to  constitute  a  verdict.  Such  a  unanimity  would,  at 
first  sight,  appear  also  to  require  a  miracle  from  heaven ;  but 
it  is  produced  by  a  simple  device  of  human  ingenuity.  The 
twelve  jurors  are  locked  up  in  their  box,  there  to  fast  until  ab 
stinence  shall  have  so  clarified  their  intellects  that  the  whole  jar 
ring  panel  can  discern  the  truth,  and  concur  in  a  unanimous  de 
cision.  One  point  is  certain,  that  truth  is  one,  and  is  immutable 
— until  the  jurors  all  agree,  they  cannot  all  be  right. 

It  is  not  our  intention,  however,  to  discuss  this  great  judicial 
point,  or  to  question  the  avowed  superiority  of  the  mode  of  in 
vestigating  truth,  adopted  in  this  antiquated  and  very  sagacious 
era.  It  is  our  object  merely  to  exhibit  to  the  curious  reader,  one 
of  the  most  memorable  cases  of  judicial  combat  we  find  in  the  an 
nals  of  Spain.  It  occurred  at  the  bright  commencement  of  the 
reign,  and  in  the  youthful,  and,  as  yet,  glorious  days,  of  Roderick 
the  Groth;  who  subsequently  tarnished  his  fame  at  home  by  his 
misdeeds,  and,  finally,  lost  his  kingdom  and  his  life  on  the  banks 
of  the  G-uadalete,  in  that  disastrous  battle  which  gave  up  Spain  a 
conquest  to  the  Moors.  The  following  is  the  story : — 

There  was  once  upon  a  time  a  certain  duke  of  Lorraine,  who 
was  acknowledged  throughout  his  domains  to  be  one  of  the  wisest 
princes  that  ever  lived.  In  fact,  there  was  no  one  measure  adopt 
ed  by  him  that  did  not  astonish  his  privy  counsellors  and  gentle 
men  in  attendance;  and  he  said  such  witty  things,  and  made  such 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  117 


sensible  speeches,  that  the  jaws  of  his  high  chamberlain  were 
well  nigh  dislocated  from  laughing  with  delight  at  one,  and  gap 
ing  with  wonderat  the  other. 

This  very  witty  and  exceedingly  wise  potentate  lived  for  half 
a  century  in  single-blessedness ;  at  length  his  courtiers  began  to 
think  it  a  great  pity  so  wise  and  wealthy  a  prince  should  not  have 
a  child  after  his  own  likeness,  to  inherit  his  talents  and  domains ; 
so  they  urged  him  most  respectfully  to  marry,  for  the  good  of  his 
estate,  and  the  welfare  of  his  subjects. 

He  turned  their  advice  over  in  his  mind  some  four  or  five 
years,  and  then  sent  forth  emissaries  to  summon  to  his  court  all 
the  beautiful  maidens  in  the  land,  who  were  ambitious  of  sharing  a 
ducal  crown.  The  court  was  soon  crowded  with  beauties  of  all 
styles  and  complexions,  from  among  whom  he  chose  one  in  the 
earliest  budding  of  her  charms,  and  acknowledged  by  all  the 
gentlemen  to  be  unparalleled  for  grace  and  loveliness.  The  cour 
tiers  extolled  the  duke  to  the  skies  for  making  such  a  choice,  and 
considered  it  another  proof  of  his  great  wisdom.  "  The  duke," 
said  they,  "  is  waxing  a  little  too  old,  the  damsel,  on  the  other 
hand,  is  a  little  too  young ;  if  one  is  lacking  in  years,  the  other 
has  a  superabundance ;  thus  a  want  on  one  side,  is  balanced  by  an 
excess  on  the  other,  and  the  result  is  a  well-assorted  marriage." 

The  duke,  as  is  often  the  case  with  wise  men  who  marry 
rather  late,  and  take  damsels  rather  youthful  to  their  bosoms,  be 
came  dotingly  fond  of  his  wife,  and  very  properly  indulged  her  in 
ill  things.  He  was,  consequently,  cried  up  by  his  subjects  in 
general,  and  by  the  ladies  in  particular,  as  a  pattern  for  hus 
bands  ;  and,  in  the  end,  from  the  wonderful  docility  with  which 
he  submitted  to  be  reined  and  checked,  acquired  the  amiable  and 
enviable  appellation  of  Duke  Philibert  the  wife-ridden. 


118  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


There  was  only  one  thing  that  disturbed  the  conjugal  felicity 
of  this  paragon  of  husbands — though  a  considerable  time  elapsed 
after  his  marriage,  there  was  still  no  prospect  of  an  heir.  The  good 
duke  left  no  means  untried  to  propitiate  Heaven,  He  made  vows 
and  pilgrimages,  he  fasted  and  he  prayed,  but  all  to  no  purpose. 
The  courtiers  were  all  astonished  at  the  circumstance.  They 
could  not  account  for  it.  While  the  meanest  peasant  in  the 
country  had  sturdy  brats  by  dozens,  without  putting  up  a  prayer, 
the  duke  wore  himself  to  skin  and  bone  with  penances  and  fast 
ings,  yet  seemed  farther  off  from  his  object  than  ever. 

At  length,  the  worthy  prince  fell  dangerously  ill,  and  felt  his 
end  approaching.  He  looked  sorrowfully  and  dubiously  upon  his 
young  and  tender  spouse,  who  hung  over  him  with  tears  and  sob 
bings.  "Alas!"  said  he,  " tears  are  soon  dried  from  youthful 
eyes,  and  sorrow  lies  lightly  on  a  youthful  heart.  In  a  little 
while  thou  wilt  forget  in  the  arms  of  another  husband  him  who 
has  loved  thee  so  tenderly." 

"  Never !  never !  "  cried  the  duchess.  <c  Never  will  I  cleave 
to  another !  Alas,  that  my  lord  should  think  me  capable  of  such 
inconstancy ! " 

The  worthy  and  wife-ridden  duke  was  soothed  by  her  assur 
ances  ;  for  he  could  not  brook  the  thought  of  giving  her  up  even 
after  he  should  be  dead.  Still  he  wished  to  have  some  pledge  of 
her  enduring  constancy : 

"  Far  be  it  from  me,  my  dearest  wife,"  said  he,  "  to  control 
thee  through  a  long  life.  A  year  and  a  day  of  strict  fidelity  will 
appease  my  troubled  spirit.  Promise  to  remain  faithful  to  my 
memory  for  a  year  and  a  day,  and  I  will  die  in  peace." 

The  duchess  made  a  solemn  vow  to  that  effect,  but  the  uxo« 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  119 


rious  feelings  of  the  duke  were  not  yet  satisfied.  "  Safe  bind,  safe 
find,"  thought  he ;  so  he  made  a  will,  bequeathing  to  her  all  his 
domains,  on  condition  of  her  remaining  true  to  him  for  a  year  and 
a  day  after  his  decease ;  but,  should  it  appear  that,  within  that 
time,  she  had  in  anywise  lapsed  from  her  fidelity,  the  inheritance 
should  go  to  his  nephew,  the  lord  of  a  neighboring  territory. 

Having  made  his  will,  the  good  duke  died  and  was  buried. 
Scarcely  was  he  in  his  tomb,  when  his  nephew  came  to  take  pos 
session,  thinking,  as  his  uncle  had  died  without  issue,  the  do 
mains  would  be  devised  to  him  of  course.  He  was  in  a  furious 
passion,  when  the  will  was  produced,  and  the  young  widow  de 
clared  inheritor  of  the  dukedom.  As  he  was  a  violent,  high 
handed  man,  and  one  of  the  sturdiest  knights  in  the  land,  fears 
were  entertained  that  he  might  attempt  to  seize  on  the  territories 
by  force.  He  had,  however,  two  bachelor  uncles  for  bosom  coun 
sellors, — swaggering  rakehelly  old  cavaliers,  who,  having  led  loose 
and  riotous  lives,  prided  themselves  upon  knowing  the  world,  and 
being  deeply  experienced  in  human  nature.  "  Prithee,  man,  be 
of  good  cheer,"  said  they,  "  the  duchess  is  a  young  and  buxom 
widow.  She  has  just  buried  our  brother,  who,  God  rest  his  soul ! 
was  somewhat  too  much  given  to  praying  and  fasting,  and  kept 
his  pretty  wife  always  tied  to  his  girdle.  She  is  now  like  a  bird 
from  a  cage.  Think  you  she  will  keep  her  vow  ?  Pooh,  pooh — • 
impossible ! — Take  our  words  for  it — we  know  mankind,  and, 
ahove  all,  womankind.  She  cannot  hold  out  for  such  a  length  of 
time;  it  is  not  in  womanhood — it  is  not  in  widowhood — we 
know  it,  and  that's  enough.  Keep  a  sharp  look-out  upon  the 
widow,  therefore,  and  within  the  twelvemonth  you  will  catch  her 
tripping — and  then  the  dukedom  is  your  own." 


120  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


The  nephew  was  pleased  with  this  counsel,  and  immediately 
placed  spies  round  the  duchess,  and  bribed  several  of  her  servants 
to  keep  watch  upon  her,  so  that  she  could  not  take  a  single  step, 
even  from  one  apartment  of  her  palace  to  another,  without  being 
observed.  Never  was  young  and  beautiful  widow  exposed  to  so 
terrible  an  ordeal. 

The  duchess  was  aware  of  the  watch  thus  kept  upon  her. 
Though  confident  of  her  own  rectitude,  she  knew  that  it  is  not 
enough  for  a  woman  to  be  virtuous — she  must  be  above  the  reach 
of  slander.  For  the  whole  term  of  her  probation,  therefore,  she 
proclaimed  a  strict  non-intercourse  with  the  other  sex.  She  had 
females  for  cabinet  ministers  and  chamberlains,  through  whom  she 
transacted  all  her  public  and  private  concerns ;  and  it  is  said  that 
never  were  the  affairs  of  the  dukedom  so  adroitly  administered. 

All  males  were  rigorously  excluded  from  the  palace;  she 
never  went  out  of  its  precincts,  and  whenever  she  moved  about  its 
courts  and  gardens,  she  surrounded  herself  with  a  body-guard  of 
young  maids  of  honor,  commanded  by  dames  renowned  for  dis 
cretion.  She  slept  in  a  bed  without  curtains,  placed  in  the  centre 
of  a  room  illuminated  by  innumerable  wax  tapers.  Four  ancient 
spinsters,  virtuous  as  Virginia,  perfect  dragons  of  watchfulness, 
who  only  slept  during  the  daytime,  kept  vigils  throughout  the 
night,  seated  in  the  four  corners  of  the  room  on  stools  without 
backs  or  arms,  and  with  seats  cut  in  checkers  of  the  hardest 
wood,  to  keep  them  from  dozing. 

Thus  wisely  and  warily  did  the  young  duchess  conduct  her 
self  for  twelve  long  months,  and  slander  almost  bit  her  tongue  off 
in  despair,  at  finding  no  room  even  for  a  surmise.     Never  was  - 
ordeal  more  burdensome,  or  more  enduringly  sustained. 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  121 


The  year  passed  away.  The  last,  odd  day  arrived,  and  a  long, 
long  day  it  was.  It  was  the  twenty-first  of  June,  the  longest  day 
in  the  year.  It  seemed  as  if  it  would  never  come  to  an  end.  A 
thousand  times  did  the  duchess  and  her  ladies  watch  the  sun  from 
the  windows  of  the  palace,  as  he  slowly  climbed  the  vault  of 
heaven,  and  seemed  still  more  slowly  to  roll  down.  They  could 
not  help  expressing  their  wonder,  now  and  then,  why  the  duke 
should  have  tagged  this  supernumerary  day  to  the  end  of  the 
year,  as  if  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  were  not  sufficient  to 
try  and  task  the  fidelity  of  any  woman.  It  is  the  last  grain  that 
turns  the1  scale — the  last  drop  that  overflows  the  goblet — and  the 
last  moment  of  delay  that  exhausts  the  patience.  By  the  time 
the  sun  sank  below  the  horizon,  the  duchess  was  in  a  fidget  that 
passed  all  bounds,  and,  though  several  hours  were  yet  to  pass 
before  the  day  regularly  expired,  she  could  not  have  remained 
those  hours  in  durance  to  gain  a  royal  crown,  much  less  a  ducal 
coronet.  So  she  gave  orders,  and  her  palfrey,  magnificently 
caparisoned,  was  brought  into  the  court-yard  of  the  castle,  with 
palfreys  for  all  her  ladies  in  attendance.  In  this  way  she  sallied 
forth,  just  as  the  sun  had  gone  down.  It  was  a  mission  of  piety 
— a  pilgrim  cavalcade  to  a  convent  at  the  foot  of  a  neighboring 
mountain — to  return  thanks  to  the  blessed  Virgin,  for  having 
sustained  her  through  this  fearful  ordeal. 

The  orisons  performed,  the  duchess  and  her  ladies  returned, 
ambling  gently  along  the  border  of  a  forest.  It  was  about  that 
mellow  hour  of  twilight  when  night  and  day  are  mingled,  and 
all  objects  are  indistinct.  Suddenly,  some  monstrous  animal 
sprang  from  out  a  thicket,  with  fearful  bowlings.  The  female 
body-guard  was  thrown  into  confusion,  and  fled  different  ways. 
6 


122  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


It  was  some  time  before  they  recovered  from  their  panic,  and 
gathered  once  more  together;  but  the  duchess  was  not  to  be 
found.  The  greatest  anxiety  was  felt  for  her  safety.  The  hazy 
mist  of  twilight  had  prevented  their  distinguishing  perfectly  the 
animal  which  had  affrighted  them.  Some  thought  it  a  wolf, 
others  a  bear,  others  a  wild  man  of  the  woods.  For  upwards  of 
an  hour  did  they  beleaguer  the  forest,  without  daring  to  venture 
in,  and  were  on  the  point  of  giving  up  the  duchess  as  torn  to 
pieces  and  devoured,  when,  to  their  great  joy,  they  beheld  her 
advancing  in  the  gloom,  supported  by  a  stately  cavalier. 

He  was  a  stranger  knight,  whom  nobody  knew.  It  was  im 
possible  to  distinguish  his  countenance  in  the  dark ;  but  all  the 
ladies  agreed  that  he  was  of  noble  presence  and  captivating 
address.  He  had  rescued  the  duchess  from  the  very  fangs  of  the 
monster,  which,  he  assured  the  ladies,  was  neither  a  wolf,  nor  a 
bear,  nor  yet  a  wild  man  of  the  woods,  but  a  veritable  fiery  dragon, 
a  species  of  monster  peculiarly  hostile  to  beautiful  females  in  the 
days  of  chivalry,  and  which  all  the  efforts  of  knight-errantry  had 
not  been  able  to  extirpate. 

The  ladies  crossed  themselves  when  they  heard  of  the  danger 
from  which  they  had  escaped,  and  could  not  enough  admire  the  gal 
lantry  of  the  cavalier.  The  duchess  would  fain  have  prevailed  on 
her  deliverer  to  accompany  her  to  her  court ;  but  he  had  no  time 
to  spare,  being  a  knight-errant,  who  had  many  adventures  on  hand, 
and  many  distressed  damsels  and  afflicted  widows  to  rescue  and 
relieve  in  various  parts  of  the  country.  Taking  a  respectful  leave, 
therefore,  he  pursued  his  wayfaring,  and  the  duchess  and  her  train 
returned  to  the  palace.  Throughout  the  whole  way,  the  ladies 
were  unwearied  in  chanting  the  praises  of  the  stranger  knight, 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  123 


nay,  many  of  them  would  willingly  have  incurred  the  danger  of 
the  dragon  to  have  enjoyed  the  happy  deliverance  of  the  duchess. 
As  to  the  latter,  she  rode  pensively  along,  but  said  nothing. 

No  sooner  was  the  adventure  of  the  wood  made  public, 
than  a  whirlwind  was  raised  about  the  ears  of  the  beautiful  duchess. 
The  blustering  nephew  of  the  deceased  duke  went  about,  armed  to 
the  teeth,  with  a  swaggering  uncle  at  each  shoulder,  ready  to  back 
him,  and  swore  the  duchess  had  forfeited  her  domain.  It  was  in 
vain  that  she  called  all  the  saints,  and  angels,  and  her  ladies  in 
attendance  into  the  bargain,  to  witness  that  she  had  passed  a  year 
and  a  day  of  immaculate  fidelity.  One  fatal  hour  remained  to  be 
accounted  for ;  and  into  the  space  of  one  little  hour  sins  enough 
may  be  conjured  up  by  evil  tongues,  to  blast  the  fame  of  a  whole 
life  of  virtue. 

The  two  graceless  uncles,  who  had  seen  the  world,  were  ever 
ready  to  bolster  the  matter  through,  and  as  they  were  brawny, 
broad-shouldered  warriors,  and  veterans  in  brawl  as  well  as 
debauch,  they  had  great  sway  with  the  multitude.  If  any  one 
pretended  to  assert  the  innocence  of  the  duchess,  they  interrupted 
him  with  a  loud  ha  !  ha !  of  derision.  "  A  pretty  story,  truly," 
would  they  cry,  "  about  a  wolf  and  a  dragon,  and  a  young  widow 
rescued  in  the  dark  by  a  sturdy  varlet,  who  dares  not  show  his  face 
in  the  daylight.  You  may  tell  that  to  those  who  do  not  know 
human  nature;  for  our  parts,  we  know  the  sex,  and  that's  enough." 

If,  however,  the  other  repeated  his  assertion,  they  would  sud 
denly  knit  their  brows,  swell,  look  big,  and  put  their  hands  upon 
their  swords.  As  few  people  like  to  fight  in  a  cause  that  does 
not  touch  their  own  interests,  the  nephew  and  the  uncles  were 
suffered  to  have  their  way,  and  swagger  uncontradicted. 


124  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


The  matter  was  at  length  referred  to  a  tribunal  composed  of 
all  the  dignitaries  of  the  dukedom,  and  many  and  repeated  con 
sultations  were  held.  The  character  of  the  duchess,  throughout 
the  year  was  as  bright  and  spotless  as  the  moon  in  a  cloudless 
night ;  one  fatal  h^ur  of  darkness  alone  intervened  to  eclipse  its 
brightness.  Finding  human  sagacity  incapable  of  dispelling  the 
mystery,  it  was  determined  to  leave  the  question  to  Heaven ;  or 
in  other  words,  to  decide  it  by  the  ordeal  of  the  sword — a  sage 
tribunal  in  the  age  of  chivalry.  The  nephew  and  two  bully  uncles 
were  to  maintain  their  accusation  in  listed  combat,  and  six  months 
were  allowed  to  the  duchess  to  provide  herself  with  three  cham 
pions,  to  meet  them  in  the  field.  Should  she  fail  in  this,  or  should 
her  champions  be  vanquished,  her  honor  would  be  considered  as 
attainted,  her  fidelity  as  forfeit,  and  her  dukedom  would  go  to  the 
nephew,  as  a  matter  of  right. 

"With  this  determination  the  duchess  was  fain  to  comply.  Pro 
clamations  were  accordingly  made,  and  heralds  sent  to  various 
parts ;  but  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  and  month  after  month, 
elapsed,  without  any  champion  appearing  to  assert  her  loyalty 
throughout  that  darksome  hour.  The  fair  widow  was  reduced  to 
despair,  when  tidings  reached  her  of  grand  tournaments  to  be 
held  at  Toledo,  in  celebration  of  the  nuptials  of  Don  Roderick, 
the  last  of  the  Gothic  kings,  with  the  Morisco  princess  Exilona. 
As  a  last  resort,  the  duchess  repaired  to  the  Spanish  court,  to  im 
plore  the  gallantry  of  its  assembled  chivalry. 

The  ancient  city  of  Toledo  was  a  scene  of  gorgeous  revelry 
on  the  event  of  the  royal  nuptials.  The  youthful  king,  braye, 
ardent,  and  magnificent,  and  his  lovely  bride,  beaming  with  all 
the  radiant  beauty  of  the  east,  were  hailed  with  shouts  and  accla- 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  125 


mations  whenever  they  appeared.  Their  nobles  vied  with  each 
other  in  the  luxury  of  their  attire,  their  prancing  steeds,  and 
splendid  retinues ;  and  the  haughty  dames  of  the  court  appeared 
in  a  blaze  of  jewels. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  pageantry,  the  beautiful,  but  afflicted 
Duchess  of  Lorraine  made  her  approach  to  the  throne.  She  was 
dressed  in  black,  and  closely  veiled ;  four  duennas  of  the  most 
staid  and  severe  aspect,  and  six  beautiful  demoiselles,  formed  her 
female  attendants.  She  was  guarded  by  several  very  ancient, 
withered,  and  grayheaded  cavaliers ;  and  her  train  was  borne  by 
one  of  the  most  deformed  and  diminutive  dwarfs  in  existence. 

Advancing  to  the  foot  of  the  throne,  she  knelt  down,  and, 
throwing  up  her  veil,  revealed  a  countenance  so  beautiful  that 
half  the  courtiers  present  were  ready  to  renounce  wives  and  mis 
tresses,  and  devote  themselves  to  her  service;  but  when  she  made 
known  that  she  came  in  quest  of  champions  to  defend  her  fame, 
every  cavalier  pressed  forward  to  offer  his  arm  and  sword,  without 
inquiring  into  the  merits  of  the  case ;  for  it  seemed  clear  that  so 
beauteous  a  lady  could  Jaave  done  nothing  but  what  was  right ;  and 
that,  at  any  rate,  she  ought  to  be  championed  in  following  the 
bent  of  her  humors,  whether  right  or  wrong. 

Encouraged  by  such  gallant  zeal,  the  duchess  suffered  her 
self  to  be  raised  from  the  ground,  and  related  the  whole  story  of 
her  distress.  When  she  concluded,  the  king  remained  for  some 
time  silent,  charmed  by  the  music  of  her  voice.  At  length :  "  As 
I  .hope  for  salvation,  most  beautiful  duchess,"  said  he,  "  were  I 
not  a  sovereign  king,  and  bound  in  duty  to  my  kingdom,  I  myself 
would  put  lance  in  rest  to  vindicate  your .  cause ;  as  it  is,  I  here 
give  full  permission  to  my  knights,  and  promise  lists  and  a  fair 


126  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


field,  and  that  the  contest  shall  take  place  before  the  walls  of 
Toledo,  in  presence  of  my  assembled  court." 

As  soon  as  the  pleasure  of  the  king  was  known,  there  was  a 
strife  among  the  cavaliers  present,  for  the  honor  of  the  contest. 
It  was  decided  by  lot,  and  the  successful  candidates  were  objects 
of  great  envy,  for  every  one  was  ambitious  of  finding  favor  in  the 
eyes  of  the  beautiful  widow. 

Missives  were  sent,  summoning  the  nephew  and  his  two 
uncles  to  Toledo,  to  maintain  their  accusation,  and  a  day  was  ap 
pointed  for  the  combat.  When  the  day  arrived,  all  Toledo  was 
in  commotion  at  an  early  hour.  The  lists  had  been  prepared  in 
the  usual  place,  just  without  the  walls,  at  the  foot  of  the  rugged 
rocks  on  which  the  city  is  built,  and  on  that  beautiful  meadow 
along  the  Tagus,  known  by  the  name  of  the  king's  garden.  The 
populace  had  already  assembled,  each  one  eager  to  secure  a  fa 
vorable  place;  the  balconies  were  filled  with  the  ladies  of  the 
court,  clad  in  their  richest  attire,  and  bands  of  youthful  knights, 
splendidly  armed  and  decorated  with  their  ladies'  devices,  were  man 
aging  their  superbly  caparisoned  steeds  about  the  field.  The  king 
at  length  came  forth  in  state,  accompanied  by  the  queen  Exilona. 
They  took  their  seats  in  a  raised  balcony,  under  a  canopy  of  rich 
damask ;  and,  at  sight  of  them,  the  people  rent  the  air  with  accla 
mations. 

The  nephew  and  his  uncles  now  rode  into  the  field,  armed 
cap-a-pie,  and  followed  by  a  train  of  cavaliers  of  their  own 
roystering  cast,  great  swearers  and  carousers,  arrant  swashbuck 
lers,  with  clanking  armor  and  jingling  spurs.  When  the  people  of 
Toledo  beheld  the  vaunting  and  discourteous  appearance  of  these 
knights,  they  were  more  anxious  than  ever  for  the  success  of  the 


THE  WIDOWS  ORDEAL.  127 


gentle  duchess ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  the  sturdy  and  stalwart 
frames  of  these  warriors,  showed  that  whoever  won  the  victory 
from  them,  must  do  it  at  the  cost  of  many  a  bitter  blow. 

As  the  nephew  and  his  riotous  crew  rode  in  at  one  side  of  the 
field,  the  fair  widow  appeared  at  the  other,  with  her  suite  of  grave 
grayheaded  courtiers,  her  ancient  duennas  and  dainty  demoiselles, 
and  the  little  dwarf  toiling  along  under  the  weight  of  her  train. 
Every  one  made  way  for  her  as  she  passed,  and  blessed  her  beau 
tiful  face,  and  prayed  for  success  to  her  cause.  She  took  her  seat 
in  a  lower  balcony,  not  far  from  the  sovereigns  ;  and  her  pale  face, 
set  off  by  her  mourning  weeds,  was  as  the  moon,  shining  forth 
from  among  the  clouds  of  night. 

The  trumpets  sounded  for  the  combat.  The  warriors  were 
just  entering  the  lists,  when  a  stranger  knight,  armed  in  panoply, 
and  followed  by  two  pages  and  an  esquire,  came  galloping  into  the 
field,  and,  riding  up  to  the  royal  balcony,  claimed  the  combat  as  a 
matter  of  right. 

"  In  me,"  cried  he,  "  behold  the  cavalier  who  had  the  happi 
ness  to  rescue  the  beautiful  duchess  from  the  peril  of  the  forest, 
and  the  misfortune  to  bring  on  her  this  grievous  calumny.  It 
was  but  recently,  in  the  course  of  my  errantry,  that  tidings  of  her 
wrongs  have  reached  my  ears,  and  I  have  urged  hither  at  all 
speed,  to  stand  forth  in  her  vindication." 

No  sooner  did  the  duchess  hear  the  accents  of  the  knight  than 
she  recognized  his  voice,  and  joined  her  prayers  with  his  that  he 
might  enter  the  lists.  The  difficulty  was,  to  determine  which  of 
the  three  champions  already  appointed  should  yield  his  place, 
each  insisting  on  the  honor  of  the  combat.  The  stranger  knight 
would  have  settled  the  point,  by  taking  the  whole  contest  upon 


128  THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL. 


himself;  but  this  the  other  knights  would  not  permit.  It  was  at 
length  determined,  as  before,  by  lot,  and  the  cavalier  who  lost  the 
chance  retired  murmuring  and  disconsolate. 

The  trumpets  again  sounded  —  the  lists  were  opened.  The 
arrogant  nephew  and  his  two  drawcansir  uncles  appeared  so  com 
pletely  cased  in  steel,  that  they  and  their  steeds  were  like  moving 
masses  of  iron.  When  they  understood  the  stranger  knight  to  be 
the  same  that  had  rescued  the  duchess  from  her  peril,  they  greet 
ed  him  with  the  most  boisterous  derision  : 

"  0  ho  !  sir  Knight  of  the  Dragon,"  said  they,  "  you  who  pre 
tend  to  champion  fair  widows  in  the  dark,  come  on,  and  vindicate 
your  deeds  of  darkness  in  the  open  day." 

The  only  reply  of  the  cavalier  was,  to  put  lance  in  rest,  and 
brace  himself  for  the  encounter.  Needless  is  it  to  relate  the  par 
ticulars  of  a  battle,  which  was  like  so  many  hundred  combats  that 
have  been  said  and  sung  in  prose  and  verse.  Who  is  there  but 
must  have  foreseen  the  event  of  a  contest,  where  Heaven  had  to 
decide  on  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  the  most  beautiful  and  immacu 
late  of  widows  ? 

The  sagacious  reader,  deeply  read  in  this  kind  of  judicial  com 
bats,  can  imagine  the  encounter  of  the  graceless  nephew  and  the 
stranger  knight.  He  sees  their  concussion,  man  to  man,  and  horse 
to  horse,  in  mid  career,  and  sir  Graceless  hurled  to  the  ground, 
and  slain.  He  will  not  wonder  that  the  assailants  of  the  brawny 
uncles  were  less  successful  in  their  rude  encounter ;  but  he  will 
picture  to  himself  the  stout  stranger  spurring  to  their  rescue,  in 
the  very  critical  moment;  he  will  see  him  transfixing  one  with  his 
lance,  and  cleaving  the  other  to  the  chine  with  a  back  stroke  of 
his  sword,  thus  leaving  the  trio  of  accusers  dead  upon  the  field, 


THE  WIDOW'S  ORDEAL.  129 


and  establishing  the  immaculate  fidelity  of  the  duchess,  and  her 
title  to  the  dukedom,  beyond  the  shadow  of  a  doubt. 

The  air  rang  with  acclamations;  nothing  was  heard  but 
praises  of  the  beauty  and  virtue  of  the  duchess,  and  of  the  prowess 
of  the  stranger  knight ;  but  the  public  joy  was  still  more  increased 
when  the  champion  raised  his  visor,  and  revealed  the  countenance 
of  one  of  the  bravest  cavaliers  of  Spain,  renowned  for  his  gallantry 
in  the  service  of  the  sex,  and  who  had  been  round  the  world  in 
quest  of  similar  adventures. 

That  worthy  knight,  however,  was  severely  wounded,  and  re 
mained  for  a  long  time  ill  of  his  wounds.  The  lovely  duchess, 
grateful  for  having  twice  owed  her  protection  to  his  arm,  attended 
him  daily  during  his  illness ;  and  finally  rewarded  his  gallantry 
with  her  hand. 

The  king  would  fain  have  had  the  knight  establish  his  title  to 
such  high  advancement  by  farther  deeds  of  arms ;  but  his  cour 
tiers  declared  that  he  already  merited  the  lady,  by  thus  vindi 
cating  her  fame  and  fortune  in  a  deadly  combat  to  outrance ;  and 
the  lady  herself  hinted  that  she  was  perfectly  satisfied  of  his 
prowess  in  arms,  from  the  proofs  she  had  received  in  his  achieve 
ment  in  the  forest. 

Their  nuptials  were  celebrated  with  great  magnificence.  The 
present  husband  of  the  duchess  did  not  pray  and  fast  like  his  pre 
decessor,  Philibert  the  wife-ridden ;  yet  he  found  greater  favor  in 
the  eyes  of  Heaven,  for  their  union  was  blessed  with  a  numerous 
progeny — the  daughters  chaste  and  beauteous  as  their  mother . 
the  sons  stout  and  valiant  as  their  sire,  and  renowned,  like  him, 
for  relieving  disconsolate  damsels  and  desolated  widows. 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 

IN  the  course  of  a  tour  in  Sicily,  in  the  days  of  my  juvenility, 
I  passed  some  little  time  at  the  ancient  city  of  Catania,  at  the 
foot  of  Mount  j?Etna.  Here  I  became  acquainted  with  the  Chev 
alier  L ,  an  old  knight  of  Malta.  It  was  not  many  years 

after  the  time  that  Napoleon  had  dislodged  the  knights  from 
their  island,  and  he  still  wore  the  insignia  of  his  order.  He  was 
not,  however,  one  of  those  reliques  of  that  once  chivalrous  body, 
who  have  been  described  as  "  a  few  worn-out  old  men,  creeping 
about  certain  parts  of  Europe,  with  the  Maltese  cross  on  their 
breasts ;  "  on  the  contrary,  though  advanced  in  life,  his  form  was 
still  light  and  vigorous :  he  had  a  pale,  thin,  intellectual  visage, 
with  a  high  forehead,  and  a  bright,  visionary  eye.  He  seemed 
to  take  a  fancy  to  me,  as  I  certainly  did  to  him,  and  we  soon  be 
came  intimate.  I  visited  him  occasionally,  at  his  apartments,  in 
the  wing  of  an  old  palace,  looking  toward  Mount  ^Etna.  He  was 
an  antiquary,  a  virtuoso,  and  a  connoisseur.  His  rooms  were 
decorated  with  mutilated  statues,  dug  up  from  Grecian  and  Roman 
ruins;  old  vases,  lachrymals,  and  sepulchral  lamps.  He  had 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA.  131 


astronomical  and  chemical  instruments,  and  black-letter  books,  in 
various  languages.  I  found  that  he  had  dipped  a  little  in  chimerical 
studies,  and  had  a  hankering  after  astrology  and  alchemy.  He 
affected  to  believe  in  dreams  and  visions,  and  delighted  in  the  fan 
ciful  Rosicrucian  doctrines.  I  cannot  persuade  myself,  however, 
that  he  really  believed  in  all  these ;  I  rather  think  he  loved  to  let 
his  imagination  carry  him  away  into  the  boundless  fairy  land 
which  they  unfolded. 

In  company  with  the  chevalier,  I  made  several  excursions  on 
horseback  about  the  environs  of  Catania,  and  the  picturesque 
skirts  of  Mount  ^Etna.  One  of  these  led  through  a  village,  which 
had  sprung  up  on  the  very  track  of  an  ancient  eruption,  the  houses 
being  built  of  lava.  At  one  time  we  passed,  for  some  distance, 
along  a  narrow  lane,  between  two  high  dead  convent  walls.  It 
was  a  cut-throat  looking  place,  in  a  country  where  assassinations 
are  frequent;  and  just  about  midway  through  it,  we  observed 
blood  upon  the  pavement  and  the  walls,  as  if  a  murder  had  actu 
ally  been  committed  there. 

The  chevalier  spurred  on  his  horse,  until  he  had  extricated 
himself  completely  from  this  suspicious  neighborhood.  He  then 
observed,  that  it  reminded  him  of  a  similar  blind  alley  in  Malta, 
infamous  on  account  of  the  many  assassinations  that  had  taken 
place  there  ;  concerning  one  of  which,  he  related  a  long  and  tra 
gical  story,  that  lasted  until  we  reached  Catania.  It  involved 
various  circumstances  of  a  wild  and  supernatural  character,  but 
which  he  assured  me  were  handed  down  in  tradition,  and  gener 
ally  credited  by  the  old  inhabitants  of  Malta. 

As  I  like  to  pick  up  strange  stories,  and  as  I  was  particularly 
struck  with  several  parts  of  this,  I  made  a  minute  of  it,  on  my 


132  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


return  to  my  lodgings.  The  memorandum  was  lost,  with  several 
of  my  travelling  papers,  and  the  story  had  faded  from  my  mind, 
when  recently,  on  perusing  a  French  memoir,  I  came  suddenly 
upon  it,  dressed  up,  it  is  true,  in  a  very  different  manner,  but 
agreeing  in  the  leading  facts,  and  given  upon  the  word  of  that 
famous  adventurer,  the  Count  Cagliostro. 

I  have  amused  myself,  during  a  snowy  day  in  the  country,  by 
rendering  it  roughly  into  English,  for  the  entertainment  of  a 
youthful  circle  round  the  Christmas  fire.  It  was  well  received  by 
my  auditors,  who,  however,  are  rather  easily  pleased.  One  proof 
of  its  merits  is,  that  it  sent  some  of  the  youngest  of  them  quaking 
to  their  beds,  and  gave  them  very  fearful  dreams.  Hoping  that 
it  may  have  the  same  effect  upon  the  ghost-hunting  reader,  I 
subjoin  it.  I  would  observe,  that  wherever  I  have  modified  the 
French  version  of  the  story,  it  has  been  in  conformity  to  some  re 
collection  of  the  narrative  of  my  friend,  the  Knight  of  Malta. 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR   OF  MINORCA. 

A   VEEITABLE   GHOST   STORY. 

"  Keep  my  wits,  heaven  I    They  say  spirits  appear 
To  melancholy  minds,  and  the  graves  open  I " 

FLETCHEE. 

About  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  while  the  Knights  of 
Saint  John  of  Jerusalem  still  maintained  something  of  their  ancient 
state  and  sway  in  the  island  of  Malta,  a  tragical  event  took  place 
there,  which  is  the  groundwork  of  the  following  narrative. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  premise,  that  at  the  time  we  are  treating 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  133 


of.  the  Order  of  Saint  John  of  Jerusalem,  grown  excessively 
wealthy,  had  degenerated  from  its  originally  devout  and  warlike 
character.  Instead  of  being  a  hardy  body  of  "monk-knights," 
sworn  soldiers  of  the  cross,  fighting  the  Paynim  in  the  Holy 
Land,  or  scouring  the  Mediterranean,  and  scourging  the  Barbary 
coasts  with  their  galleys,  or  feeding  the  poor,  and  attending  upon 
the  sick  at  their  hospitals,  they  led  a  life  of  luxury  and  libertin 
ism,  and  were  to  be  found  in  the  most  voluptuous  courts  of 
Europe.  The  order,  in  fact,  had  become  a  mode  of  providing 
for  the  needy  branches  of  the  Catholic  aristocracy  of  Europe. 
"  A  commandery,"  we  are  told,  was  a  splendid  provision  for  a 
younger  brother ;  and  men  of  rank,  however  dissolute,  provided 
they  belonged  to  the  highest  aristocracy,  became  Knights  of 
Malta,  just  as  they  did  bishops,  or  colonels  of  regiments,  or  court 
chamberlains.  After  a  brief  residence  at  Malta,  the  knights 
passed  the  rest  of  their  time  in  their  own  countries,  or  only 
made  a  visit  now  and  then  to  the  island.  While  there,  having 
but  little  military  duty  to  perform,  they  beguiled  their  idleness 
by  paying  attentions  to  the  fair. 

There  was  one  circle  of  society,  however,  into  which  they 
could  not  obtain  currency.  This  was  composed  of  a  few  families 
of  the  old  Maltese  nobility,  natives  of  the  island.  These  families, 
not  being  permitted  to  enroll  any  of  their  members  in  the  order, 
affected  to  hold  no  intercourse  with  its  chevaliers ;  admitting 
none  into  their  exclusive  coteries,  but  the  (Jrand  Master,  whom 
they  acknowledged  as  their  sovereign,  and  the  members  of  the 
chapter  which  composed  his  council. 

To  indemnify  themselves  for  this  exclusion,  the  chevaliers 
carried  their  gallantries  into  the  next  class  of  society,  composed 


134  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA, 


of  those  who  held  civil,  administrative,  and  judicial  situations. 
The  ladies  of  this  class  were  called  honorate,  or  honorables,  to 
distinguish  them  from  the  inferior  orders  ;  and  among  them  were 
many  of  superior  grace,  beauty  and  fascination. 

Even  in  this  more  hospitable  class,  the  chevaliers  were  not  all 
equally  favored.  Those  of  Germany  had  the  decided  preference, 
owing  to  their  fair  and  fresh  complexions,  and  the  kindliness  of 
their  manners  :  next  to  these,  came  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  on 
account  of  their  profound  and  courteous  devotion,  and  most  dis 
creet  secrecy.  Singular  as  it  may  seem,  the  chevaliers  of  France 
fared  the  worst.  The  Maltese  ladies  dreaded  their  volatility, 
and  their  proneness  to  boast  of  their  amours,  and  shunned  all 
entanglement  with  them.  They  were  forced,  therefore,  to  content 
themselves  with  conquests  among  females  of  the  lower  orders. 
They  revenged  themselves,  after  the  gay  French  manner,  by  mak 
ing  the  "honorate  "  the  objects  of  all  kinds  of  jests  and  mystifi 
cations  ;  by  prying  into  their  tender  aifairs  with  the  more  favored 
chevaliers  and  making  them  the  theme  of  song  and  epigram. 

About  this  time,  a  French  vessel  arrived  at  Malta,  bringing 
out  a  distinguished  personage  of  the  Order  of  Saint  John  of 
Jerusalem,  the  Commander  de  Foulquerre,  who  came  to  solicit 
the  post  of  commander-in-chief  of  the  galleys.  He  was  descended 
from  an  old  and  warrior  line  of  French  nobility,  his  ancestors 
having  long  been  seneschals  of  Poitou,  and  claiming  descent  from 
the  first  Counts  of  Angouleme. 

The  arrival  of  the  commander  caused  a  little  uneasiness 
among  the  peaceably  inclined,  for  he  bore  the  character,  in  the 
island,  of  being  fiery,  arrogant,  and  quarrelsome.  He  had 
already  been  three  times  at  Malta,  and  on  each  visit  had  signal- 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  135 


ized  himself  by  some  rash  and  deadly  affray.  As  he  was  now 
thirty-five  years  of  age,  however,  it  was  hoped  that  time  might 
have  taken  off  the  fiery  edge  of  his  spirit,  and  that  he  might 
prove  more  quiet  and  sedate  than  formerly.  The  commander  set 
up  an  establishment  befitting  his  rank  and  pretensions ;  for  he 
arrogated  to  himself  an  importance  greater  even  than  that  of 
the  Grand  Master.  His  house  immediately  became  the  rallying 
place  of  all  the  young  French  chevaliers.  They  informed  him  of 
all  the  slights  they  had  experienced  or  imagined,  and  indulged 
their  petulant  and  satirical  vein  at  the  expense  of  the  honorate 
and  their  admirers.  The  chevaliers  of  other  nations  soon  found 
the  topics  and  tone  of  conversation  at  the  commander's  irksome 
and  offensive,  and  gradually  ceased  to  visit  there.  The  com 
mander  remained  at  the  head  of  a  national  clique,  who  looked  up 
to  him  as  their  model.  If  he  was  not  as  boisterous  and  quarrel 
some  as  formerly,  he  had  become  haughty  and  overbearing.  He 
was  fond  of  talking  over  his  past  affairs  of  punctilio  and  bloody 
duel.  When  walking  the  streets,  he  was  generally  attended  by 
a  ruffling  train  of  young  French  chevaliers,  who  caught  his  own 
air  of  assumption  and  bravado.  These  he  would,  conduct  to  the 
scenes  of  his  deadly  encounters,  point  out  the  very  spot  where 
each  fatal  lunge  had  been  given,  and  dwell  vaingloriously  on 
every  particular. 

Under  his  tuition,  the  young  French  chevaliers  began  to  add 
bluster  and  arrogance  to  their  former  petulance  and  levity ;  they 
fired  up  on  the  most  trivial  occasions,  particularly  with  those  who 
had  been  most  successful  with  the  fair ;  and  would  put  on  the 
most  intolerable  drawcansir  airs.  The  other  chevaliers  conducted 
themselves  with  all  possible  forbearance  and  reserve;  but  they 


136  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


saw  it  would  be  impossible  to  keep  on  long,  in  this  manner,  with 
out  coming  to  an  open  rupture. 

Among  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  was  one  named  Don  Luis  de 
Lima  Yasconcellos.  He  was  distantly  related  to  the  Grand 
Master ;  and  had  been  enrolled  at  an  early  age  among  his  pages, 
but  had  been  rapidly  promoted  by  him,  until,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
six,  he  had  been  given  the  richest  Spanish  commandery  in  the 
order.  He  had,  moreover,  been  fortunate  with  the  fair,  with  one 
of  whom,  the  most  beautiful  honorata  of  Malta,  he  had  long 
maintained  the  most  tender  correspondence. 

The  character,  rank,  and  connections  of  Don  Luis  put  him  on 
a  par  with  the  imperious  Commander  de  Foulquerre,  and  pointed 
him  out  as  a  leader  and  champion  to  his  countrymen.  The  Span 
ish  cavaliers  repaired  to  him,  therefore,  in  a  body ;  represented 
all  the  grievances  they  had  sustained,  and  the  evils  they  appre 
hended,  and  urged  him  to  use  his  influence  with  the  commander 
and  his  adherents  to  put  a  stop  to  the  growing  abuses. 

Don  Luis  was  gratified  by  this  mark  of  confidence  and  esteem, 
on  the  part  of  his  countrymen,  and  promised  to  have  an  interview 
with  the  Commander  de  Foulquerre  on  the  subject.  He  resolved 
to  conduct  himself  with  the  utmost  caution  and  delicacy  on  the 
occasion ;  to  represent  to  the  commander  the  evil  consequences 
which  might  result  from  the  inconsiderate  conduct  of  the  young 
French  chevaliers,  and  to  entreat  him  to  exert  the  great  influence 
he  so  deservedly  possessed  over  them,  to  restrain  their  excesses. 
Don  Luis  was  aware,  however,  of  the  peril  that  attended  any  in 
terview  of  the  kind  with  this  imperious  and  fractious  man,  and 
apprehended,  however  it  might  commence,  that  it  would  terminate 
in  a  duel.  Still,  it  was  an  affair  of  honor,  in  which  Castilian 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  1ST 


dignity  was  concerned ;  beside,  he  had  a  lurking  disgust  at  the 
overbearing  manners  of  De  Foulquerre,  and  perhaps  had  been 
somewhat  offended  by  certain  intrusive  attentions  which  he  had 
presumed  to  pay  to  the  beautiful  honorata. 

It  was  now^Holy  Week ;  a  time  too  sacred  for  worldly  feuds 
and  passions,  especially  in  a  community  under  the  dominion  of  a 
religious  order :  it  was  agreed,  therefore,  that  the  dangerous 
interview  in  question  should  not  take  place  until  after  the  Easter 
holydays.  It  is  probable,  from  subsequent  circumstances,  that 
the  Commander  de  Foulquerre  had  some  information  of  this  ar 
rangement  among  the  Spanish  cavaliers,  and  was  determined  to 
be  beforehand,  and  to  mortify  the  pride  of  their  champion,  who 
was  thus  preparing  to  read  him  a  lecture.  He  chose  Good  Friday 
for  his  purpose.  On  this  sacred  day,  it  is  customary  in  Catholic 
countries  to  make  a  tour  of  all  the  churches,  offering  up  prayers 
in  each.  In  every  Catholic  church,  as  is  well  known,  there  is  a 
vessel  of  holy  water  near  the  door.  In  this,  every  one,  on  enter 
ing,  dips  his  fingers,  and  makes  therewith  the  sign  of  the  cross  on 
his  forehead  and  breast.  An  office  of  gallantry,  among  the  young 
Spaniards,  is  to  stand  near  the  door,  dip  their  hands  in  the  holy 
vessel,  and  extend  them  courteously  and  respectfully  to  any  lady 
of  their  acquaintance  who  may  enter;  who  thus  receives  the 
sacred  water  at  second  hand,  on  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and  pro 
ceeds  to  cross  herself,  with  all  due  decorum.  The  Spaniards,  who 
are  the  most  jealous  of  lovers,  are  impatient  when  this  piece  of 
devotional  gallantry  is  proffered  to  the  object  of  their  affections  by 
any  other  hand :  on  Good  Friday,  therefore,  when  a  lady  makes  a 
tour  of  the  churches,  it  is  the  usage  among  them  for  the  inamorato 
to  follow  her  from  church  to  church,  so  as  to  present  her  the  holy 


138  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


water  at  the  door  of  each ;  thus  testifying  his  own  devotion,  and 
at  the  same  time  preventing  the  officious  services  of  a  rival. 

On  the  day  in  question,  Don  Luis  followed  the  beautiful 
honorata,  to  whom,  as  has  already  been  observed,  he  had  long 
been  devoted.  At  the  very  first  church  she  visited,  the  Com 
mander  de  Foulquerre  was  stationed  at  the  portal,  with  several  of 
the  young  French  chevaliers  about  him.  Before  Don  Luis  could 
offer  her  the  holy  water,  he  was  anticipated  by  the  commander, 
who  thrust  himself  between  them,  and,  while  he  performed  the 
gallant  office  to  the  lady,  rudely  turned  his  back  upon  her  ad 
mirer,  and  trod  upon  his  feet.  The  insult  was  enjoyed  by  the 
young  Frenchmen  who  were  present :  it  was  too  deep  and  grave 
to  be  forgiven  by  Spanish  pride ;  and  at  once  put  an  end  to  all 
Don  Luis's  plans  of  caution  and  forbearance.  He  repressed  his 
passion  for  the  moment,  however,  and  waited  until  all  the  parties 
left  the  church :  then,  accosting  the  commander  with  an  air  of 
coolness  and  unconcern,  he  inquired  after  his  health,  and  asked  to 
what  church  he  proposed  making  his  second  visit.  "  To  the 
Magisterial  Church  of  Saint  John."  Don  Luis  offered  to  conduct 
him  thither,  by  the  shortest  route.  His  offer  was  accepted,  ap 
parently  without  suspicion,  and  they  proceeded  together.  After 
walking  some  distance,  they  entered  a  long,  narrow  lane,  without 
door  or  window  opening  upon  it,  called  the  "  Strada  Stretta,"  or 
narrow  street.  It  was  a  street  in  which  duels  were  tacitly  per 
mitted,  or  connived  at,  in  Malta,  and  were  suffered  to  pass  aa 
accidental  encounters.  Every  where  else,  they  were  prohibited. 
This  restriction  had  been  instituted  to  diminish  the  number  of 
duels  formerly  so  frequent  in  Malta.  As  a  farther  precaution  to 
render  these  encounters  less  fatal,  it  was  an  offence,  punishable 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  139 


with  death,  for  any  one  to  enter  this  street  armed  with  either 
poniard  or  pistol.  It  was  a  lonely,  dismal  street,  just  wide 
enough  for  two  men  to  stand  upon  their  guard,  and  cross  their 
swords  ;  few  persons  ever  traversed  it,  unless  with  some  sinister 
design ;  and  on  any  preconcerted  duello,  the  seconds  posted  them 
selves  at  each  end,  to  stop  all  passengers,  and  prevent  inter 
ruption. 

In  the  present  instance,  the  parties  had  scarce  entered  the 
street,  when  Don  Luis  drew  his  sword,  and  called  upon  the  com 
mander  to  defend  himself. 

De  Foulquerre  was  evidently  taken  by  surprise:  he  drew 
back,  and  attempted  to  expostulate ;  but  Don  Luis  persisted  in 
defying  him  to  the  combat. 

After  a  second  or  two,  he  likewise  drew  his  sword,  but  im 
mediately  lowered  the  point. 

"Good  Friday !  "  ejaculated  he,  shaking  his  head :  "  one  word 
with  you ;  it  is  full  six  years  since  I  have  been  in  a  confessional : 
I  am  shocked  at  the  state  of  my  conscience ;  but  within  three 
days — that  is  to  say,  on  Monday  next " 

Don  Luis  would  listen  to  nothing.  Though  naturally  of  a 
peaceable  disposition,  he  had  been  stung  to  fury,  and  people  of 
that  character  when  once  incensed,  are  deaf  to  reason.  He  com 
pelled  the  commander  to  put  himself  on  his  guard.  The  latter, 
though  a  man  accustomed  to  brawl  and  battle,  was  singularly  dis 
mayed.  Terror  was  visible  in  all  his  features.  He  placed  him 
self  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  and  the  weapons  were  crossed.  The 
contest  was  brief  and  fatal.  At  ,the  very  first  thrust,  the  sword 
of  Don  Luis  passed  through  the  body  of  his  antagonist.  Tho 
commander  staggered  to  the  wall,  and  leaned  against  it. 


140  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


"  On  Good  Friday !  "  ejaculated  he  again,  with  a  failing  voice, 
and  despairing  accents.  "  Heaven  pardon  you !  "  added  he ;  u  take 
my  sword  to  Tetefoulques,  and  have  a  hundred  masses  performed 
in  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  for  the  repose  of  my  soul !  "  With 
these  words  he  expired. 

The  fury  of  Don  Luis  was  at  an  end.  He  stood  aghast,  gaz 
ing  at  the  bleeding  body  of  the  commander.  He  called  to  mind 
the  prayer  of  the  deceased  for  three  days'  respite,  to  make  his 
peace  with  heaven ;  he  had  refused  it ;  had  sent  him  to  the  grave, 
with  all  his  sins  upon  his  head  !  His  conscience  smote  him  to  the 
core ;  he  gathered  up  the  sword  of  the  commander,  which  he  had 
been  enjoined  to  take  to  Tetefoulques,  and  hurried  from  the  fatal 
Strada  Stretta. 

The  duel  of  course  made  a  great  noise  in  Malta,  but  had  no 
injurious  effect  on  the  worldly  fortunes  of  Don  Luis.  He  made  a 
full  declaration  of  the  whole  matter,  before  the  proper  authorities ; 
the  chapter  of  the  order  considered  it  one  of  those  casual  en 
counters  of  the  Strada  Stretta,  which  were  mourned  over,  but  tol 
erated  ;  the  public  by  whom  the  late  commander  had  been  gener 
ally  detested,  declared  that  he  deserved  his  fate.  It  was  but 
three  days  after  the  event,  that  Don  Luis  was  advanced  to  one  of 
the  highest  dignities  of  the  order,  being  invested  by  the  Grand 
Master  with  the  Priorship  of  the  kingdom  of  Minorca. 

From  that  time  forward,  however,  the  whole  character  and 
conduct  of  Don  Luis  underwent  a  change.  He  became  a  prey  to 
a  dark  melancholy,  which  nothing  could  assuage.  The  most  aus 
tere  piety,  the  severest  penances,  had  no  effect  in  allaying  the 
horror  which  preyed  upon  his  mind.  He  was  absent  for  a  long 
time  from  Malta ;  having  gone,  it  was  said,  on  remote  pilgrim- 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  141 


ages  :  when  lie  returned,  lie  was  more  haggard  than  ever.  There 
seemed  something  mysterious  and  inexplicable  in  this  disorder  of 
his  mind.  The  following  is  the  revelation  made  by  himself,  of 
the  horrible  visions  or  chimeras  by  which  he  was  haunted  : 

"  When  I  had  made  my  declaration  before  the  chapter,"  said 
he,  "  my  provocations  were  publicly  known,  I  had  made  my  peace 
with  man ;  but  it  was  not  so  with  God,  nor  with  my  confessor, 
nor  with  my  own  conscience.  My  act  was  doubly  criminal,  from 
the  day  on  which  it  was  committed,  and  from  my  refusal  to  a  de 
lay  of  three  days,  for  the  victim  of  my  resentment  to  receive  the 
sacraments.  His  despairing  ejaculation,  l  Good  Friday  !  Good 
Friday  ! '  continually  rang  in  my  ears.  *  Why  did  I  not  grant  the 
respite ! '  cried  I  to  myself;  '  was  it  not  enough  to  kill  the  body, 
but  must  I  seek  to  kill  the  soul ! ' 

"  On  the  night  following  Friday,  I  started  suddenly  from  my 
sleep.  An  unaccountable  horror  was  upon  me.  I  looked  wildly 
around.  It  seemed  as  if  I  were  not  in  my  apartment,  nor  in  my 
bed,  but  in  the  fatal  Strada  Stretta,  lying^  on  the  pavement.  I 
again  saw  the  commander  leaning  against  the  wall;  I  again  heard 
his  dying  words :  '  Take  my  sword  to  Tetefoulques,  and  have  a 
hundred  masses  performed  in  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  for  the  re 
pose  of  my  soul ! ' 

"  On  the  following  night,  I  caused  one  of  my  servants  to  sleep 
in  the  same  room  with  me.  I  saw  and  heard  nothing,  either  on 
that  night  or  any  of  the  nights  following,  until  the  next 
Friday;  when  I  had  again  the  same  vision,  with  this  dif 
ference,  that  my  valet  seemed  to  be  lying  some  distance  from  me 
on  the  pavement  of  the  Strada  Stretta.  The  vision  continued  to 
be  repeated  on  every  Friday  night,  the  commander  always  appear- 


142  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


ing  in  the  same  manner,  and  uttering  the  same  words :  '  Take 
my  sword  to  Tetefoulqu.es,  and  have  a  hundred  masses  performed 
in  the  chapel  of  the  castle,  for  the  repose  of  my  soul ! ' 

"  On  questioning  my  servant  on  the  subject,  he  stated,  that 
on  these  occasions  he  dreamed  that  he  was  lying  in  a  very  nar 
row  street,  but  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  any  thing  of  the  com 
mander. 

"  I  knew  nothing  of  this  Tetefoulques,  whither  the  defunct 
was  so  urgent  I  should  carry  his  sword.  I  made  inquiries,  there 
fore,  concerning  it,  among  the  French  chevaliers.  They  informed 
me  that  it  was  an  old  castle,  situated  about  four  leagues  from 
Poitiers,  in  the  midst  of  a  forest.  It  had  been  built  in  old  times, 
several  centuries  since  by  Foulques  Taillefer,  (or  Fulke  Hack-iron,) 
a  redoubtable  hard-fighting  Count  of  Angouleme,  who  gave  it 
to  an  illegitimate  son,  afterwards  created  Grand  Seneschal  of 
Poitou,  which  son  became  the  progenitor  of  the  Foulquerres  of 
Tetefoulques,  hereditary  seneschals  of  Poitou.  They  farther  in 
formed  me,  that  strange  stories  were  told  of  this  old  castle,  in  the 
surrounding  country,  and  that  it  contained  many  curious  reliques. 
Among  these,  were  the  arms  of  Foulques  Taillefer,  together  with 
those  of  the  warriors  he  had  slain ;  and  that  it  was  an  imme 
morial  usage  with  the  Foulquerres  to  have  the  weapons  deposited 
there  which  they  had  yielded  either  in  war  or  single  combat. 
This,  then,  was  the  reason  of  the  dying  injunction  of  the  com 
mander  respecting  his  sword.  I  carried  this  weapon  with  me, 
wherever  I  went,  but  still  I  neglected  to  comply  with  his  request 

•"  The  vision  still  continued  to  harass  me  with  undiminished 
horror.  I  repaired  to  Rome,  where  I  confessed  myself  to  the 
Grand  Cardinal  penitentiary,  and  informed  him  of  the  terrors 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  ,.43 


with  which  I  was  haunted.  He  promised  me  absolution,  after  I 
should  have  performed  certain  acts  of  penance,  the  principal  of 
which  was  to  execute  the  dying  request  of  the  commander,  by 
carrying  his  sword  to  Tetefoulques,  and  having  the  hundred  mass 
es  performed  in  the  chapel  of  the  castle  for  the  repose  of  his  soul. 

"  I  set  out  for  France  as  speedily  as  possible,  and  made  no  de 
lay  in  my  journey.  On  arriving  at  Poitiers,  I  found  that  the 
tidings  of  the  death  of  the  commander  had  reached  there,  but  had 
caused  no  more  affliction  than  among  the  people  of  Malta.  Leav 
ing  my  equipage  in  the  town,  I  put  on  the  garb  of  a  pilgrim,  and 
taking  a  guide,  set  out  on  foot  for  Tetefoulques.  Indeed  the 
roads  in  this  part  of  the  country  were  impracticable  for  carriages. 

"I  found  the  castle  of  Tetefoulques  a  grand  but  gloomy  and 
dilapidated  pile.  All  the  gates  were  closed,  and  there  reigned 
over  the  whole  place  an  air  of  almost  savage  loneliness  and  de 
sertion.  I  had  understood  that  its  only  inhabitants  were  the 
concie*rge,  or  warder,  and  a  kind  of  hermit  who  had  charge  of  the 
chapel.  After  ringing  for  some  time  at  the  gate,  I  at  length  suc 
ceeded  in  bringing  forth  the  warder,  who  bowed  with  reverence  to 
my  pilgrim's  garb.  I  begged  him  to  conduct  me  to  the  chapel, 
that  being  the  end  of  my  pilgrimage.  We  found  the  hermit  there, 
chanting  the  funeral  service ;  a  dismal  sound  to  one  who  came  to 
perform  a  penance  for  the  death  of  a  member  of  the  family. 
When  he  had  ceased  to  chant,  I  informed  him  that  I  came  to  ac 
complish  an  obligation  of  conscience,  and  that  I  wished  him  to 
perform  a  hundred  masses  for  the  repose  of  the  soul  of  the  com 
mander.  He  replied  that,  not  being  in  orders,  he  was  not  author 
ized  to  perform  mass,  but  that  he  would  willingly  undertake  to 
see  that  my  debt  of  conscience  was  discharged.  I  laid  my  offer- 


M4  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


ing  on  the  altar,  and  would  have  placed  the  sword  of  the  com 
mander  there,  likewise.  *  Hold ! '  said  the  hermit,  with  a  me 
lancholy  shake  of  the  head,  c  this  is  no  place  for  so  deadly  a 
weapon,  that  has  so  often  been  bathed  in  Christian  blood.  Take 
it  to  the  armory ;  you  will  find  there  trophies  enough  of  like  char 
acter.  It  is  a  place  into  which  I  never  enter.' 

"  The  warder  here  took  up  the  theme  abandoned  by  the 
peaceful  man  of  God.  He  assured  me  that  I  would  see  in  the 
armory  the  swords  of  all  the  warrior  race  of  Foulquerres,  together 
with  those  of  the  enemies  over  whom  they  had  triumphed.  This, 
he  observed,  had  been  a  usage  kept  up  since  the  time  of  Mellu- 
sine,  and  of  her  husband,  Geoffrey  a  la  Grand-dent,  or  Geoffrey 
with  the  Great-tooth. 

"  I  followed  the  gossiping  warder  to  the  armory.  It  was  a 
great  dusty  hall,  hung  round  with  Gothic-looking  portraits,  of  a 
stark  line  of  warriors,  each  with  his  weapon,  and  the  weapons  of 
those  he  had  slain  in  battle,  hung  beside  his  picture.  The  most 
conspicuous  portrait  was  that  of  Foulques  Taillefer,  (Fulke  Hack- 
iron,)  Count  of  Angouleme,  and  founder  of  the  castle.  He  was 
represented  at  full  length,  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  grasping  a  huge 
buckler,  on  which  were  emblazoned  three  lions  passant.  The 
figure  was  so  striking,  that  it  seemed  ready  to  start  from  the 
canvas  :  and  I  observed  beneath  this  picture,  a  trophy  composed 
of  many  weapons,  proofs  of  the  numerous  triumphs  of  this  hard- 
fighting  old  cavalier.  Beside  the  weapons  connected  with  the 
portraits,  there  were  swords  of  all  shapes,  sizes,  and  centuries, 
hui'g  round  the  hall ;  with  piles  of  armor,  placed  as  it  were  in 
effigy. 

"  On  each  side  of  an  immense  chimney,  were  suspended  the 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  145 


portraits  of  the  first  seneschal  of  Poitou  (the  illegitimate  son  of 
Foulques  Taillefer)  and  his  wife  Isabella  de  Lusignan ;  the  pro 
genitors  of  the  grim  race  of  Foulquerres  that  frowned  around. 
They  had  the  look  of  being  perfect  likenesses ;  and  as  I  gazed  on 
them,  I  fancied  I  could  trace  in  their  antiquated  features  some 
family  resemblance  to  their  unfortunate  descendant,  whom  I  had 
slain !  This  was  a  dismal  neighborhood,  yet  the  armory  was  the  only 
part  of  the  castle  that  had  a  habitable  air ;  so  I  asked  the  warder 
whether  he  could  not  make  a  fire,  and  give  me  something  for  sup 
per  there,  and  prepare  me  a  bed  in  one  corner. 

"  '  A  fire  and  a  supper  you  shall  have,  and  that  cheerfully, 
most  worthy  pilgrim,'  said  he ;  '  but  as  to  a  bed,  I  advise  you  to 
come  and  sleep  in  my  chamber.' 

" '  Why  so?'  inquired  I;  'why  shall  I  not  sleep  in  this 
hall?' 

" '  I  have  my  reasons ;  I  will  make  a  bed  for  you  close  to 
mine.' 

"  I  made  no  objections,  for  I  recollected  that  it  was  Friday, 
and  I  dreaded  the  return  of  my  vision.  He  brought  in  billets 
of  wood,  kindled  a  fire  in  the  great  overhanging  chimney,  and 
then  went  forth  to  prepare  my  supper.  I  drew  a  heavy  chair  be 
fore  the  fire,  and  seating  myself  in  it,  gazed  musingly  round  upon 
the  portraits  of  the  Foulquerres,  and  the  antiquated  armor  and 
weapons,  the  mementos  of  many  a  bloody  deed.  As  the  day  de 
clined,  the  smoky  draperies  of  the  hall  gradually  became  con 
founded  with  the  dark  ground  of  the  paintings,  and  the  lurid 
gleams  from  the  chimney  only  enabled  me  to  see  visages  staring 
at  me  from  the  gathering  darkness.  All  this  was  dismal  in  the 
extreme,  and  somewhat  appalling :  perhaps  it  was  the  state  of  my 


146  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


conscience  that  rendered  me  peculiarly  sensitive,  and  prone  to 
fearfuj  imaginings. 

"  At  length  the  warder  brought  in  my  supper.  It  consisted 
of  a  dish  of  trout,  and  some  crawfish  taken  in  the  fosse  of  the 
castle.  He  procured  also  a  bottle  of  wine,  which  he  informed 
me  was  wine  of  Poitou.  I  requested  him  to  invite  the  hermit  to 
join  me  in  my  repast ;  but  the  holy  man  sent  back  word  that  he 
allowed  himself  nothing  but  roots  and  herbs,  cooked  with  water. 
I  took  my  meal,  therefore,  alone,  but  prolonged  it  as  much  as 
possible,  and  sought  to  cheer  my  drooping  spirits  by  the  wine  of 
Poitou,  which  I  found  very  tolerable. 

"  When  supper  was  over,  I  prepared  for  my  evening  devouons. 
I  have  always  been  very  punctual  in  reciting  my  breviary ;  it  is 
the  prescribed  and  bounden  duty  of  all  cavaliers  of  the  religious 
orders ;  and  I  can  answer  for  it,  is  faithfully  performed  by  those 
of  Spain.  I  accordingly  drew  forth  from  my  pocket  a  small  mis 
sal  and  a  rosary,  and  told  the  warder  he  need  only  designate  to 
me  the  way  to  his  chamber,  where  I  could  come  and  rejoin  him, 
when  I  had  finished  my  prayers. 

"  He  accordingly  pointed  out  a  winding  stair-case,  opening 
from  the  hall.  c  You  will  descend  this  stair-case,'  said  he, '  until  you 
come  to  the  fourth  landing-place,  where  you  enter  a  vaulted  pas 
sage,  terminated  by  an  arcade,  with  a  statue  of  the  blessed 
Jeanne  of  France  :  you  cannot  help  finding  my  room,  the  door  of 
which  I  will  leave  open ;  it  is  the  sixth  door  from  the  landing- 
place.  I  advise  you  not  to  remain  in  this  hall  after  midnight. 
Before  that  hour,  you  will  hear  the  hermit  ring  the  bell,  in 
going  the  rounds  of  the  corridors.  Do  not  linger  here  after  that 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA,  147 


"  The  warder  retired,  and  I  commenced  my  devotions.  I  con 
tinued  at  them  earnestly ;  pausing  from  time  to  time  to  put  wood 
upon  the  fire.  I  did  not  dare  to  look  much  around  me,  for  I  felt 
myself  becoming  a  prey  to  fearful  fancies.  The  pictures  appeared 
to  become  animated.  If  I  regarded  one  attentively,  for  any 
length  of  time,  it  seemed  to  move  the  eyes  and  lips.  Above  all, 
the  portraits  of  the  G-rand  Seneschal  and  his  lady,  which  hung  on 
each  side  of  the  great  chimney,  the  progenitors  of  the  Foulquerres  of 
Tetefoulques,  regarded  me,  I  thought,  with  angry  and  baleful 
eyes  :  I  even  fancied  they  exchanged  significant  glances  with  each 
other.  Just  then  a  terrible  blast  of  wind  shook  all  the  case 
ments,  and,  rushing  through  the  hall,  made  a  fearful  rattling  and 
clashing  among  the  armor.  To  my  startled  fancy,  it  seemed 
something  supernatural. 

"  At  length  I  heard  the  bell  of  the  hermit,  and  hastened  to 
quit  the  hall.  Taking  a  solitary  light,  which  stood  on  the  upper 
table,  I  descended  the  winding  stair-case ;  but  before  I  had 
reached  the  vaulted  passage,  leading  to  the  statue  of  the  blessed 
Jeanne  of  France,  a  blast  of  wind  extinguished  my  taper.  I 
hastily  remounted  the  stairs,  to  light  it  again  at  the  chimney  ;  but 
judge  of  my  feelings,  when,  on  arriving  at  the  entrance  to  the  ar 
mory,  I  beheld  the  Seneschal  and  his  lady,  who  had  descended 
from  their  frames,  and  seated  themselves  on  each  side  of  the 
fire-place ! 

"  '  Madam,  my  love,'  said  the  Seneschal,  with  great  formality, 
and  in  antiquated  phrase,  '  what  think  you  of  the  presumption 
of  this  Castilian,  who  comes  to  harbor  himself  and  make  wassail 
in  this  our  castle,  after  having  slain  our  descendant,  the  com 
mander,  and  that  without  granting  him  time  for  confession  ? ' 


148  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


"  *  Truly,  my  lord,'  answered  the  female  spectre,  with  no  less 
stateliness  of  manner,  and  with  great  asperity  of  tone — '  truly, 
my  lord,  I  opine  that  this  Castilian  did  a  grievous  wrong  in  this 
encounter  ;  and  he  should  never  be  suffered  to  depart  hence,  with 
out  your  throwing  him  the  gauntlet.'  I  paused  to  hear  no 
more,  but  rushed  again  down  stairs,  to  seek  the  chamber  of  the 
warder.  It  was  impossible  to  find  it  in  the  darkness,  and  in  the 
perturbation  of  my  mind.  After  an  hour  and  a  half  of  fruitless 
search,  and  mortal  horror  and  anxieties,  I  endeavored  to  persuade 
myself  that  the  day  was  about  to  break,  and  listened  impatiently 
for  the  crowing  of  the  cock ;  for  I  thought  if  I  could  hear  his 
cheerful  note,  I  should  be  reassured  ;  catching,  in  the  disordered 
state  of  my  nerves,  at  the  popular  notion  that  ghosts  never  ap 
pear  after  the  first  crowing  of  the  cock. 

"  At  length  I  rallied  myself,  and  endeavored  to  shake  off  the 
vague  terrors  which  haunted  me.  I  tried  to  persuade  myself  that 
the  two  figures  which  I  had  seemed  to  see  and  hear,  had  existed 
only  in  my  troubled  imagination.  I  still  had  the  end  of  a  candle 
in  my  hand,  and  determined  to  make  another  effort  to  re-light  it, 
and  find  my  way  to  bed ;  for  I  was  ready  to  sink  with  fatigue. 
I  accordingly  sprang  up  the  stair-case,  three  steps  at  a  time,  stop 
ped  at  the  door  of  the  armory,  and  peeped  cautiously  in.  The 
two  G-othic  figures  were  no  longer  in  the  chimney  corners,  but  I 
neglected  to  notice  whether  they  had  re-ascended  to  their  frames. 
I  entered,  and  made  desperately  for  the  fire-place,  but  scarce  had 
I  advanced  three  strides,  when  Messire  Foulques  Taillefer  stood 
before  me,  in  the  centre  of  the  hall,  armed  cap-a-pie,  and  stand 
ing  in  guard,  with  the  point  of  his  sword  silently  presented  to 
me.  I  would  have  retreated  to  the  stair-case,  but  the  door  of  it 


THE  GRAND  PRIOR  OF  MINORCA.  149 


was  occupied  by  the  phantom  figure  of  an  esquire,  who  rudely 
flung  a  gauntlet  in  my  face.  Driven  to  fury,  I  snatched  down  a 
sword  from  the  wall :  by  chance,  it  was  that  of  the  commander 
which  I  had  placed  there.  I  rushed  upon  my  fantastic  adversary, 
and  seemed  to  pierce  him  through  and  through  ;  but  at  the  same 
time  I  felt  as  if  something  pierced  my  heart,  burning  like  a  red- 
hot  iron.  My  blood  inundated  the  hall,  and  I  fell  senseless. 


"  When  I  recovered  consciousness,  it  was  broad  day,  and  I 
found  myself  in  a  small  chamber,  attended  by  the  warder  and  the 
hermit.  The  former  told  me  that  on  the  previous  night,  he  had 
awakened  long  after  the  midnight  hour,  and  perceiving  that  I  had 
not  come  to  his  chamber,  he  had  furnished  himself  with  a  vase  of 
holy  water,  and  set  out  to  seek  me.  He  found  me  stretched 
senseless  on  the  pavement  of  the  armory,  and  bore  me  to  his 
room.  I  spoke  of  my  wound ;  and  of  the  quantity  of  blood  that  I  had 
lost.  He  shook  his  head,  and  knew  nothing  about  it ;  and  to  my 
surprise,  on  examination,  I  found  myself  perfectly  sound  and  un 
harmed.  The  wound  and  blood,  therefore,  had  been  all  delusion. 
Neither  the  warder  nor  the  hermit  put  any  questions  to  me,  but 
advised  me  to  leave  the  castle  as  soon  as  possible.  I  lost  no 
time  in  complying  with  their  counsel,  and  felt  my  heart  relieved 
from  an  oppressive  weight,  as  I  left  the  gloomy  and  fate-bound 
battlements  of  Tetefoulques  behind  me. 

u  I  arrived  at  Bayonne,  on  my  way  to  Spain,  on  the  following 
Friday.  At  midnight  I  was  startled  from  my  sleep,  as  I  had 
formerly  been ;  but  it  was  no  longer  by  the  vision  of  the  dying 
commander.  It  was  old  Foulques  Taillefer  who  stood  before  me, 


150  THE  KNIGHT  OF  MALTA. 


armed  cap-a-pie,  and  presenting  the  point  of  his  sword.  I  made 
the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  the  spectre  vanished,  but  I  received 
the  same  red-hot  thrust  in  the  heart  which  I  had  felt  in  the  ar 
mory,  and  I  seemed  to  be  bathed  in  blood.  I  would  have  called 
out,  or  have  risen  from  my  bed  and  gone  in  quest  of  succor,  but 
I  could  neither  speak  nor  stir.  This  agony  endured  until  the 
crowing  of  the  cock,  when  I  fell  asleep  again  ;  but  the  next  day 
I  was  ill,  and  in  a  most  pitiable  state.  I  have  continued  to  be 
harassed  by  the  same  vision  every  Friday  night ;  no  acts  of  peni 
tence  and  devotion  have  been  able  to  relieve  me  from  it ;  and  it 
is  only  a  lingering  hope  in  divine  mercy  that  sustains  me,  and 
enables  me  to  support  so  lamentable  a  visitation." 


The  Grand  Prior  of  Minorca  wasted  gradually  away  under  this 
constant  remorse  of  conscience,  and  this  horrible  incubus.  He 
died  some  time  after  having  revealed  the  preceding  particulars  of 
his  case,  evidently  the  victim  of  a  diseased  imagination. 

The  above  relation  has  been  rendered,  in  many  parts  literally, 
from  the  French  memoir,  iu  which  it  is  given  as  a  true  story  :  if 
so,  it  is  one  of  those  instor-  >es  in  which  truth  is  more  romantic 
than  fiction. 


"A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY." 

IN  the  course  of  a  voyage  from  England,  I  once  fell  in  with  a 
convoy  of  merchant  ships,  bound  for  the  West  Indies.  The 
weather  was  uncommonly  bland ;  and  the  ships  vied  with  each 
other  in  spreading  sail  to  catch  a  light,  favoring  breeze,  until 
their  hulls  were  almost  hidden  beneath  a  cloud  of  canvas.  The 
breeze  went  down  with  the  sun,  and  his  last  yellow  rays  shone 
upon  a  thousand  sails,  idly  flapping  against  the  masts. 

I  exulted  in  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  and  augured  a  prosper 
ous  voyage ;  but  the  veteran  master  of  the  ship  shook  his  head, 
and  pronounced  this  halcyon  calm  a  "  weather-breeder."  And  so 
it  proved.  A  storm  burst  forth  in  the  night ;  the  sea  roared  and 
raged ;  and  when  the  day  broke,  I  beheld  the  late  gallant  convoy 
scattered  in  every  direction;  some  dismasted,  others  scudding 
under  bare  poles,  and  many  firing  signals  of  distress. 

I  have  since  been  occasionally  reminded  of  this  scene,  by  those 
calm,  sunny  seasons  in  the  commercial  world,  which  are  known 
by  the  name  of  "  times  of  unexampled  prosperity."  They  are 
the  sure  weather-breeders  of  traffic.  Every  now  and  then  the 
world  is  visited  by  one  of  these  delusive  seasons,  when  '•  the  cre 
dit  system,"  as  it  is  called,  expands  to  full  luxuriance :  every 


152  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


body  trusts  every  body;  a  bad  debt  is  a  thing  unheard  of;  the 
broad  way  to  certain  and  sudden  wealth  lies  plain  and  open ;  and 
men  are  tempted  to  dash  forward  boldly,  from  the  facility  of  bor 
rowing. 

Promissory  notes,  interchanged  between  scheming  individuals, 
are  liberally  discounted  at  the  banks,  which  become  so  many  mints 
to  coin  words  into  cash ;  and  as  the  supply  of  words  is  inexhaust 
ible,  it  may  readily  be  supposed  what  a  vast  amount  of  promis 
sory  capital  is  soon  in  circulation.  Every  one  now  talks  in  thou 
sands  ;  nothing  is  heard  but  gigantic  operations  in  trade ;  great 
purchases  and  sales  of  real  property,  and  immense  sums  made  at 
every  transfer.  All,  to  be  sure,  as  yet  exists  in  promise ;  but  the 
believer  in  promises  calculates  the  aggregate  as  solid  capital,  and 
falls  back  in  amazement  at  the  amount  of  public  wealth,  the  "  un 
exampled  state  of  public  prosperity  !  " 

Now  is  the  time  for  speculative  and  dreaming  or  designing 
men.  They  relate  their  dreams  and  projects  to  the  ignorant  and 
credulous,  dazzle  them  with  golden  visions,  and  set  them  madden 
ing  after  shadows.  The  example  of  one  stimulates  another ; 
speculation  rises  on  speculation;  bubble  rises  on  bubble;  every  one 
helps  with  his  breath  to  swell  the  windy  superstructure,  and  ad 
mires  and  wonders  at  the  magnitude  of  the  inflation  he  has  con 
tributed  to  produce. 

Speculation  is  the  romance  of  trade,  and  casts  contempt  upon 
all  its  sober  realities.  It  renders  the  stock-jobber  a  magician,  and 
the  exchange  a  region  of  enchantment.  It  elevates  the  merchant 
into  a  kind  of  knight-errant,  or  rather  a  commercial  Quixote. 
The  slow  but  sure  gains  of  snug  percentage  become  despicable  in 
his  eyes  :  no  "  operation"  is  thought  worthy  of  attention,  that  does 


A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PKOSPERITY.  153 


not  double  or  treble  the  investment.  No  business  is  worth,  fol 
lowing,  that  does  not  promise  an  immediate  fortune.  As  he  sits 
musing  over  his  ledger,  with  pen  behind  his  ear,  he  is  like  La 
Mancha's  hero  in  his  study,  dreaming  over  his  books  of  chivalry. 
His  dusty  counting-house  fades  before  his  eyes,  or  changes  into  a 
Spanish  mine  :  he  gropes  after  diamonds,  or  dives  after  pearls. 
The  subterranean  garden  of  Aladdin  is  nothing  to  the  realms  of 
wealth  that  break  upon  his  imagination. 

Could  this  delusion  always  last,  the  life  of  a  merchant  would 
indeed  be  a  golden  dream ;  but  it  is  as  short  as  it  is  brilliant. 
Let  but  a  doubt  enter,  and  the  "  season  of  unexampled  prosperity" 
is  at  end.  The  coinage  of  words  is  suddenly  curtailed ;  the  pro 
missory  capital  begins  to  vanish  into  smoke ;  a  panic  succeeds, 
and  the  whole  superstructure,  built  upon  credit,  and  reared  by 
speculation,  crumbles  to  the  ground,  leaving  scarce  a  wreck  behind : 

"  It  is  such  stuff  as  dreams  are  made  o£" 

When  a  man  of  business,  therefore,  hears  on  every  side  rumors 
of  fortunes  suddenly  acquired  ;  when  he  finds  banks  liberal,  and 
brokers  busy ;  when  he  sees  adventurers  flush  of  paper  capital, 
and  full  of  scheme  and  enterprise ;  when  he  perceives  a  greater 
disposition  to  buy  than  to  sell ;  when  trade  overflows  its  ac 
customed  channels,  and  deluges  the  country ;  when  he  hears  of 
new  regions  of  commercial  adventure ;  of  distant  marts  and  dis 
tant  mines,  swallowing  merchandise  and  disgorging  gold ;  when 
he  finds  joint  stock  companies  of  all  kinds  forming ;  railroads, 
canals,  and  locomotive  engines,  springing  up  on  every  side ; 
when  idlers  suddenly  become  men  of  business,  and  dash  into  the 
game  of  commerce  as  they  would  into  the  hazards  of  the  faro  ta- 
7* 


164  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


ble ;  when  he  beholds  the  streets  glittering  with  new  equipages, 
palaces  conjured  up  by  the  magic  of  speculation ;  tradesmen  flush 
ed  with  sudden  success,  and  vying  with  each  other  in  ostentatious 
expense ;  in  a  word,  when  he  hears  the  whole  community  joining 
in  the  theme  of  "  unexampled  prosperity,"  let  him  look  upon  the 
whole  as  a  "  weather-breeder,"  and  prepare  for  the  impending 
storm. 

The  foregoing  remarks  are  intended  merely  as  a  prelude  to 
a  narrative  I  am  about  to  lay  before  the  public,  of  one  of  the 
most  memorable  instances  of  the  infatuation  of  gain,  to  be  found 
in  the  whole  history  of  commerce.  I  allude  to  the  famous  Mis 
sissippi  bubble.  It  is  a  matter  that  has  passed  into  a  proverb, 
and  become  a  phrase  in  every  one's  mouth,  yet  of  which  not  one 
merchant  in  ten  has  probably  a  distinct  idea.  I  have  therefore 
thought  that  an  authentic  account  of  it  would  be  interesting  and 
salutary,  at  the  present  moment,  when  we  are  suifering  under 
the  effects  of  a  severe  access  of  the  credit  system,  and  just  re 
covering  from  one  of  its  ruinous  delusions. 


THE     GREAT     MISSISSIPPI     BUBBLE. 

Before  entering  into  the  story  of  this  famous  chimera,  it  is  pro 
per  to  give  a  few  particulars  concerning  the  individual  who  engen 
dered  it.  JOHN  LAW  was  born  in  Edinburgh,  in  1671.  His 
father,  William  Law,  was  a  rich  goldsmith,  and  left  his  son  an 
estate  of  considerable  value,  called  Lauriston,  situated  about  four 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  155 


miles  from  Edinburgh.  Goldsmiths,  in  those  days,  acted  occa 
sionally  as  bankers,  and  his  father's  operations,  under  this  charac 
ter,  may  have  originally  turned  the  thoughts  of  the  youth  to  the 
science  of  calculation,  in  which  he  became  an  adept ;  so  that  at  an 
early  age  he  excelled  in  playing  at  all  games  of  combination. 

In  1694,  he  appeared  in  London,  where  a  handsome  person, 
and  an  easy  and  insinuating  address,  gained  him  currency  in  the 
first  circles,  and  the  nickname  of  "  Beau  Law."  The  same  per 
sonal  advantages  gave  him  success  in  the  world  of  gallantry,  until 
he  became  involved  in  a  quarrel  with  Beau  Wilson,  his  rival  in 
fashion,  whom  he  killed  in  a  duel,  and  then  fled  to  France  to  avoid 
prosecution. 

He  returned  to  Edinburgh  in  1700,  and  remained  there  sever 
al  years ;  during  which  time  he  first  broached  his  great  credit  sys 
tem,  offering  to  supply  the  deficiency  of  coin  by  the  establishment 
of  a  bank,  which,  according  to  his  views,  might  emit  a  paper  cur 
rency  equivalent  to  the  whole  landed  estate  of  the  kingdom. 

His  scheme  excited  great  astonishment  in  Edinburgh;  but, 
though  the  government  was  not  sufficiently  advanced  in  financial 
knowledge  to  detect  the  fallacies  upon  which  it  was  founded, 
Scottish  caution  and  suspicion  served  in  place  of  wisdom,  and  the 
project  was  rejected.  Law  met  with  no  better  success  with  the 
English  parliament ;  and  the  fatal  affair  of  the  death  of  Wilson 
still  hanging  over  him,  for  which  he  had  never  been  able  to  pro 
cure  a  pardon,  he  again  went  to  France. 

The  financial  affairs  of  France  were  at  this  time  in  a  deplora 
ble  condition.  The  wars,  the  pomp,  and  profusion,  of  Louis  XIV., 
and  his  religious  persecutions  of  whole  classes  of  the  most  indus 
trious  of  his  subjects,  had  exhausted  his  treasury,  and  overwhelm- 


A  TIME  OF  UXNEAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


ed  the  nation  with  debt.  The  old  monarch  clung  to  his  selfish 
magnificence,  and  could  not  be  induced  to  diminish  his  enormous 
expenditure ;  and  his  minister  of  finance  was  driven  to  his  wits' 
end  to  devise  all  kinds  of  disastrous  expedients  to  keep  up  the 
royal  state,  and  to  extricate  the  nation  from  its  embarrassments. 

In  this  state  of  things,  Law  ventured  to  bring  forward  his  fi 
nancial  project.  It  was  founded  on  the  plan  of  the  Bank  of 
England,  which  had  already  been  in  successful  operation  several 
years.  He  met  with  immediate  patronage,  and  a  congenial  spirit, 
in  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  who  had  married  a  natural  daughter  of 
the  king.  The  duke  had  been  astonished  at  the  facility  with 
which  England  had  supported  the  burden  of  a  public  debt,  crea 
ted  by  the  wars  of  Anne  and  William,  and  which  exceeded  in 
amount  that  under  which  France  was  groaning.  The  whole  mat 
ter  was  soon  explained  by  Law  to  his  satisfaction.  The  latter 
maintained  that  England  had  stopped  at  the  mere  threshold  oi 
an  art  capable  of  creating  unlimited  sources  of  national  wealth. 
The  duke  was  dazzled  with  his  splended  views  and  specious  rea 
sonings,  and  thought  he  clearly  comprehended  his  system.  Dem- 
arets,  the  Comptroller  General  of  Finance,  was  not  so  easily  de 
ceived.  He  pronounced  the  plan  of  Law  more  pernicious  than 
any  of  the  disastrous  expedients  that  the  government  had  yet 
been  driven  to.  The  old  king  also,  Louis  XIV.,  detested  all  in 
novations,  especially  those  which  came  from  a  rival  nation :  the 
project  of  a  bank,  therefore,  was  utterly  rejected. 

Law  remained  for  a  while  in  Paris,  leading  a  gay  and  affluent 
existence,  owing  to  his  handsome  person,  easy  manners,  flexible 
temper,  and  a  faro-bank  which  he  had  set  up.  His  agreeable  ca 
reer  was  interrupted  by  a  message  from  D'Argenson,  Lieutenant 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  157 


General  of  Police,  ordering  him  to  quit  Paris,  alleging  that  he 
was  "  rather  too  skilful  at  the  game  which  he  had  introduced  /  " 

For  several  succeeding  years,  he  shifted  his  residence  from 
state  to  state  of  Italy  and  Germany ;  offering  his  scheme  of  fi 
nance  to  every  court  that  he  visited,  but  without  success.  The 
Duke  of  Savoy,  Victor  Amadeas,  afterward  King  of  Sardinia, 
was  much  struck  with  his  project;  but  after  considering  it  for  a 
time,  replied;  "  I  am  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  ruin  myself." 

The  shifting,  adventurous  life  of  Law,  and  the  equivocal 
means  by  which  he  appeared  to  live,  playing  high,  and  always 
with  great  success,  threw  a  cloud  of  suspicion  over  him,  wher 
ever  he  went,  and  caused  him  to  be  expelled  by  the  magistracy 
from  the  semi-commercial,  semi-aristocratical  cities  of  Venice  and 
Genoa. 

The  events  of  1715,  brought  Law  back  again  to  Paris. 
Louis  XIV.  was  dead.  Lous  XV.  was  a  mere  child,  and  during 
his  minority  the  Duke  of  Orleans  held  the  reins  of  government 
as  Regent.  Law  had  at  length  found  his  man. 

The  Duke  of  Orleans  has  been  differently  represented  by  dif 
ferent  contemporaries.  He  appears  to  have  had  excellent  natural 
qualities,  perverted  by  a  bad  education.  He  was  of  the  middle 
size,  easy  and  graceful,  with  an  agreeable  countenance,  and  open, 
affable  demeanor.  His  mind  was  quick  and  sagacious,  rather 
than  profound ;  and  his  quickness  of  intellect  and  excellence  of 
memory,  supplied  the  lack  of  studious  application.  His  wit  was 
prompt  and  pungent;  he  expressed  himself  with  vivacity  and  pre 
cision  ;  his  imagination  was  vivid,  his  temperament  sanguine  and 
ioyous  ;  his  courage  daring.  His  mother,  the  Duchess  of  Orleans, 
expressed  his  character  in  a  jeu  d'esprit.  "  The  fairies,'  said  she, 


158  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


(t  were  invited  to  be  present  at  his  birth,  and  each  one  conferring  a 
talent  on  my  son,  he  possesses  them  all.  Unfortunately,  we  had 
forgotten  to  invite  an  old  fairy,  who,  arriving  after  all  the  others, 
exclaimed,  '  He  shall  have  all  the  talents,  excepting  that  to 
make  good  use  of  them." 

Under  proper  tuition,  the  duke  might  have  risen  to  real 
greatness ;  but  in  his  early  years,  he  was  put  under  the  tutelage 
of  the  Abbe  Dubois,  one  of  the  subtlest  and  basest  spirits  that 
ever  intrigued  its  way  into  eminent  place  and  power.  The  Abbe 
was  of  low  origin  and  despicable  exterior,  totally  destitute  of 
morals,  and  perfidious  in  the  extreme;  but  with  a  supple,  insinu 
ating  address,  and  an  accommodating  spirit,  tolerant  of  all  kinds 
of  profligacy  in  others.  Conscious  of  his  own  inherent  baseness,  he 
sought  to  secure  an  influence  over  his  pupil,  by  corrupting  his 
principles,  and  fostering  his  vices  :  he  debased  him,  to  keep  him 
self  from  being  despised.  Unfortunately  he  succeeded.  To  the 
early  precepts  of  this  infamous  pander  have  been  attributed 
those  excesses  that  disgraced  the  manhood  of  the  Regent,  and 
gave  a  licentious  character  to  his  whole  course  of  government. 
His  love  of  pleasure,  quickened  and  indulged  by  those  who  should 
have  restrained  it,  led  him  into  all  kinds  of  sensual  indulgence. 
He  had  been  taught  to  think  lightly  of  the  most  serious  duties 
and  sacred  ties,  to  turn  virtue  into  a  jest,  and  consider  religion 
mere  hypocrisy.  He  was  a  gay  misanthrope,  that  had  a  sover 
eign  but  sportive  contempt  for  mankind ;  believed  that  his  most 
devoted  servant  would  be  his  enemy,  if  interest  prompted ;  and 
maintained  that  an  honest  man  was  he  who  had  the  art  to  con 
ceal  that  he  was  the  contrary. 

He  surrounded  himself  with  a  set  of  dissolute  men  like  himself, 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  159 


who,  let  loose  from  the  restraint  under  which  they  had  been 
held,  during  the  latter  hypocritical  days  of  Louis  XI Y.,  now  gave 
way  to  every  kind  of  debauchery.  With  these  men  the  Regent 
used  to  shut  himself  up,  after  the  hours  of  business,  and  exclud 
ing  all  graver  persons  and  graver  concerns,  celebrate  the  most 
drunken  and  disgusting  orgies,  where  obscenity  and  blasphemy 
formed  the  seasoning  of  conversation.  For  the  profligate  com 
panions  of  these  revels  he  invented  the  appellation  of  his  roues, 
the  literal  meaning  of  which  is,  men  broken  on  the  wheel ;  in 
tended,  no  doubt,  to  express  their  broken-down  characters  and 
dislocated  fortunes;  although  a  contemporary  asserts  that  it 
designated  the  punishment  that  most  of  them  merited.  Madame 
de  Labran,  who  was  present  at  one  of  the  Regent's  suppers,  was 
disgusted  by  the  conduct  and  conversation  of  the  host  and  his 
guests,  and  observed  at  table,  that  God,  after  he  had  created 
man,  took  the  refuse  clay  that  was  left,  and  made  of  it  the  souls 
of  lackeys  and  princes. 

Such  was  the  man  that  now  ruled  the  destinies  of  France. 
Law  found  him  full  of  perplexities,  from  the  disastrous  state  of 
the  finances.  He  had  already  tampered  with  the  coinage,  calling 
in  the  coin  of  the  nation,  re-stamping  it,  and  issuing  it  at  a  nomi 
nal  increase  of  one  fifth ;  thus  defrauding  the  nation  out  of  twenty 
per  cent,  of  its  capital.  He  was  not  likely,  therefore,  to  be  scru 
pulous  about  any  means  likely  to  relieve  him  from  financial  diffi 
culties  :  he  had  even  been  led  to  listen  to  the  cruel  alternative 
of  a  national  bankruptcy. 

Under  these  circumstances,  Law  confidently  brought  forward 
his  scheme  of  a  bank,  that  was  to  pay  off  the  national  debt,  in 
crease  the  revenue,  and  at  the  same  time  diminish  the  taxes. 


160  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


The  following  is  stated  as  the  theory  by  which  he  recommended 
his  system  to  the  Regent.  The  credit  enjoyed  by  a  banker  or  a 
merchant,  he  observed,  increases  his  capital  tenfold;  that  is  to 
say,  he  who  has  a  capital  of  one  hundred  thousand  livres,  may,  if 
He  possess  sufficient  credit,  extend  his  operations  to  a  million, 
and  reap  profits  to  that  amount.  In  like  manner,  a  state  that 
can  collect  into  a  bank  all  the  current  coin  of  the  kingdom,  would 
be  as  powerful  as  if  its  capital  were  increased  tenfold.  The 
specie  must  be  drawn  into  the  bank,  not  by  way  of  loan,  or  by 
taxations,  but  in  the  way  of  deposit.  This  might  be  effected  in 
different  modes,  either  by  inspiring  confidence,  or  by  exerting 
authority.  One  mode,  he  observed,  had  already  been  in  use. 
Each  time  that  a  state  makes  a  re-coinage,  it  becomes  momen 
tarily  the  depository  of  all  the  money  called  in,  belonging  to  the 
subjects  of  that  state.  His  bank  was  to  effect  the  same  purpose  ; 
that  is  to  say,  to  receive  in  deposit  all  the  coin  of  the  kingdom, 
but  to  give  in  exchange  its  bills,  which,  being  of  an  invariable 
value,  bearing  an  interest,  and  being  payable  on  demand,  would 
not  only  supply  the  place  of  coin,  but  prove  a  better  and  more 
profitable  currency. 

The  Regent  caught  with  avidity  at  the  scheme.  It  suited  his 
bold,  reckless  spirit,  and  his  grasping  extravagance.  Not  that  he 
was  altogether  the  dupe  of  Law's  specious  projects :  still  he  was 
apt,  like  many  other  men,  unskilled  in  the  arcana  of  finance,  to 
mistake  the  multiplication  of  money,  for  the  multiplication  of 
wealth ;  not  understanding  that  it  was  a  mere  agent  or  instru 
ment  in  the  interchange  of  traffic,  to  represent  the  value  of  the 
various  productions  of  industry ;  and  that  an  increased  circulation 
of  coin  or  bank-bills,  in  the  shape  of  currency,  only  adds  a  propor- 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  161 


tionably  increased  and  fictitious  value  to  such  productions.  Law 
enlisted  the  vanity  of  the  Regent  in  his  cause.  He  persuaded 
him  that  he  saw  more  clearly  than  others  into  sublime  theories 
of  finance,  which  were  quite  above  the  ordinary  apprehension.  He 
used  to  declare  that,  excepting  the  Regent  and  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 
no  one  had  thoroughly  comprehended  his  system. 

It  is  certain  that  it  met  with  strong  opposition  from  the 
Regent's  ministers,  the  Duke  de  Noailles  and  the  Chancellor 
d'Anguesseau ;  and  it  was  no  less  strenuously  opposed  by  the 
parliament  of  Paris.  Law,  however,  had  a  potent  though  secret 
coadjutor  in  the  Abbe  Dubois,  now  rising,  during  the  regency, 
into  great  political  power,  and  who  retained  a  baneful  influence 
over  the  mind  of  the  Regent.  This  wily  priest,  as  avaricious  as 
he  was  ambitious,  drew  large  sums  from  Law  as  subsidies,  and 
aided  him  greatly  in  many  of  his  most  pernicious  operations.  He 
aided  him,  in  the  present  instance,  to  fortify  the  mind  of  the 
Regent  against  all  the  remonstrances  of  his  ministers  and  the 
parliament. 

Accordingly,  on  the  2d  of  May,  1716,  letters  patent  were 
granted  to  Law,  to  establish  a  bank  of  deposit,  discount,  and  cir 
culation,  under  the  firm  of  "  Law  and  Company,"  to  continue  for 
twenty  years.  The  capital  was  fixed  at  six  millions  of  livres,  di 
vided  into  shares  of  five  hundred  livres  each,  which  were  to  be 
sold  for  twenty-five  per  cent,  of  the  regent's  debased  coin,  and 
seventy-five  per  cent,  of  the  public  securities,  which  were  then  at 
a  great  reduction  from  their  nominal  value,  and  which  then 
amounted  to  nineteen  hundred  millions.  The  ostensible  object 
of  the  bank,  as  set  forth  in  the  patent,  was  to  encourage  the  coin- 
liierco  and  manufactures  of  France.  The  louis-d'ors,  and  crowns 


162  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY 


of  the  bank  were  always  to  retain  the  same  standard  of  value,  and 
its  bills  to  be  payable  in  them  on  demand. 

At  the  outset,  while  the  bank  was  limited  in  its  operations, 
and  while  its  paper  really  represented  the  specie  in  its  vaults,  it 
seemed  to  realize  all  that  had  been  promised  from  it.  It  rapidly 
acquired  public  confidence,  and  an  extended  circulation,  and  pro 
duced  an  activity  in  commerce,  unknown  under  the  baneful 
government  of  Louis  XIV.  As  the  bills  of  the  bank  bore  an 
interest,  and  as  it  was  stipulated  they  would  be  of  invariable 
value,  and  as  hints  had  been  artfully  circulated  that  the  coin 
would  experience  successive  diminution,  every  body  hastened  to 
the  bank  to  exchange  gold  and  silver  for  paper.  So  great  became 
the  throng  of  depositors,  and  so  intense  their  eagerness,  that 
there  was  quite  a  press  and  struggle  at  the  back  door,  and  a 
ludicrous  panic  was  awakened,  as  if  there  was  danger  of  their 
not  being  admitted.  An  anecdote  of  the  time  relates,  that  one 
of  the  clerks,  with  an  ominous  smile,  called  out  to  the  struggling 
multitude,  "  Have  a  little  patience,  my  friends ;  we  mean  to  take 
all  your  money ;  "  an  assertion  disastrously  verified  in  the  sequel. 

Thus  by  the  simple  establishment  of  a  bank,  Law  and  the 
Regent  obtained  pledges  of  confidence  for  the  consummation  of 
farther  and  more  complicated  schemes,  as  yet  hidden  from  the 
public.  In  a  little  while  the  bank  shares  rose  enormously,  and  the 
amount  of  its  notes  in  circulation  exceeded  one  hundred  and  ten 
millions  of  livres.  A  subtle  stroke  of  policy  had  rendered  it  popu 
lar  with  the  aristocracy.  Louis  XIV.  had  several  years  previously 
imposed  an  income  tax  of  a  tenth,  giving  his  royal  word  that  it 
should  cease  in  1717.  This  tax  had  been  exceedingly  irksome  to 
the  privileged  orders;  and,  in  the  present  disastrous  times, they 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  163 


had  dreaded  an  augmentation  of  it.  In  consequence  of  the  suc 
cessful  operation  of  Law's  scheme,  however,  the  tax  was  abolished, 
and  now  nothing  was  to  be  heard  among  the  nobility  and  clergy 
but  praises  of  the  Regent  and  the  bank. 

Hitherto  all  had  gone  well,  and  all  might  have  continued  to  go 
well,  had  not  the  paper  system  been  farther  expanded.  But  Law 
had  yet  the  grandest  part  of  his  scheme  to  develope.  He  had  to 
open  his  ideal  world  of  speculation,  his  El  Dorado  of  unbounded 
wealth.  The  English  had  brought  the  vast  imaginary  commerce 
of  the  South  Seas  in  aid  of  their  banking  operations.  Law 
sought  to  bring,  as  an  immense  auxiliary  of  his  bank,  the  whole 
trade  of  the  Mississippi.  Under  this  name  was  included  not 
merely  the  river  so  called,  but  the  vast  region  known  as  Louisi 
ana,  extending  from  north  latitude  29°  up  to  Canada  in  north 
latitude  40°.  This  country  had  been  granted  by  Louis  XIV.  to 
the  Sieur  Crozat,  but  he  had  been  induced  to  resign  his  patent. 
In  conformity  to  the  plea  of  Mr.  Law,  letters  patent  were  granted 
in  August,  1717,  for  the  creation  of  a  commercial  company,  which 
was  to  have  the  colonizing  of  this  country,  and  the  monopoly  of 
its  trade  and  resources,  and  of  the  beaver  or  fur  trade  with 
Canada.  It  was  called  the  Western,  but  became  better  known 
as  the  Mississippi  Company.  The  capital  was  fixed  at  one  hun 
ted  millions  of  livres,  divided  into  shares,  bearing  an  interest  of 

;r  per  cent.,  which  were  subscribed  for  in  the  public  securities. 
As  the  bank  was  to  cooperate  with  the  company,  the  Regent 
ordered  that  its  bills  should  be  received  the  same  as  coin,  in  all 
payments  of  the  public  revenue.  Law  was  appointed  chief 
director  of  this  company,  which  was  an  exact  copy  of  the  Earl  of 
Oxford's  South  Sea  Company,  set  on  foot  in  1711,  and  which  dis- 


164  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


tracted  all  England  with  the  frenzy  of  speculation.  In  like  man 
ner  with  the  delusive  picturings  given  in  that  memorable  scheme 
of  the  sources  of  rich  trade  to  be  opened  in  the  South  Sea 
countries,  Law  held  forth  magnificent  prospects  of  the  fortunes 
to  be  made  in  colonizing  Louisiana,  which  was  represented  as  a 
veritable  land  of  promise,  capable  of  yielding  every  variety  of  the 
most  precious  produce.  Reports,  too,  were  artfully  circulated,  with 
great  mystery,  as  if  to  the  "  chosen  few,"  of  mines  of  gold  and 
silver  recently  discovered  in  Louisiana,  and  which  would  insure 
instant  wealth  to  the  early  purchasers.  These  confidential  whis 
pers  of  course  soon  became  public ;  and  were  confirmed  by  travel 
lers  fresh  from  the  Mississippi,  and  doubtless  bribed,  who  had 
seen  the  mines  in  question,  and  declared  them  superior  in  richness 
to  those  of  Mexico  and  Peru.  Nay  more,  ocular  proof  was  fur 
nished  to  public  credulity,  in  ingots  of  gold,  conveyed  to  the 
mint,  as  if  just  brought  from  the  mines  of  Louisiana. 

Extraordinary  measures  were  adopted  to  force  a  colonization. 
An  edict  was  issued  to  collect  and  transport  settlers  to  the  Mis 
sissippi.  The  police  lent  its  aid.  The  streets  and  prisons  of 
Paris,  and  of  the  provincial  cities,  were  swept  of  mendicants  and 
vagabonds  of  all  kinds,  who  were  conveyed  to  Havre  de  Grace. 
About  six  thousand  were  crowded  into  ships,  where  no  precautions 
had  been  taken  for  their  health  or  accommodation.  Instruments 
of  all  kinds  proper  for  the  working  of  mines  were  ostentatiously 
paraded  in  public,  and  put  on  board  the  vessels ;  and  the  whole 
set  sail  for  this  fabled  El  Dorado,  which  was  to  prove  the  grave 
of  the  greater  part  of  its  wretched  colonists. 

D'Anguesseau,  the  chancellor,  a  man  of  probity  and  integrity, 
still  lifted  his  voice  against  the  paper  system  of  Law,  and  his  pro 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  165 


ject  of  colonization,  and  was  eloquent  and  prophetic  in  picturing 
the  evils  they  were  calculated  to  produce ;  the  private  distress  and 
public  degradation ;  the  corruption  of  morals  and  manners ;  the 
triumph  of  knaves  and  schemers ;  the  ruin  of  fortunes,  and  down 
fall  of  families.  He  was  incited  more  and  more  to  this  opposition 
by  the  Duke  de  Noailles,  the  Minister  of  Finance,  who  was  jealous 
of  the  growing  ascendency  of  Law  over  the  mind  of  the  regent, 
but  was  less  honest  than  the  chancellor  in  his  opposition.  The 
Regent  was  excessively  annoyed  by  the  difficulties  they  conjured 
up  in  the  way  of  his  darling  schemes  of  finance,  and  the  counte 
nance  they  gave  to  the  opposition  of  parliament ;  which  body,  dis 
gusted  more  and  more  with  the  abuses  of  the  regency,  and  the 
system  of  Law,  had  gone  so  far  as  to  carry  its  remonstrances  to 
the  very  foot  of  the  throne. 

He  determined  to  relieve  himself  from  these  two  ministers, 
who,  either  through  honesty  or  policy,  interfered  with  all  his 
plans.  Accordingly,  on  the  28th  of  January,  1718,  he  dismissed 
the  chancellor  from  office,  and  exiled  him  to  his  estate  in  the 
country ;  and  shortly  afterward  removed  the  Duke  de  Noailles 
from  the  administration  of  the  finance. 

The  opposition  of  parliament  to  the  Regent  and  his  measures 
was  carried  on  with  increasing  violence.  That  body  aspired  to  an 
equal  authority  with  the  Regent  in  the  administration  of  affairs, 
and  pretended,  by  its  decree,  to  suspend  an  edict  of  the  regency 
ordering  a  new  coinage,  and  altering  the  value  of  the  currency. 
But  its  chief  hostility  was  levelled  against  Law,  a  foreigner  and 
a  heretic,  and  one  who  was  considered  by  a  majority  of  the  mem 
bers  in  the  light  of  a  malefactor.  In  fact,  so  far  was  this  hostili. 
ty  carried,  that  secret  measures  were  taken  to  investigate  his  mal- 


166  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


versations,  and  to  collect  evidence  against  him ;  and  it  was  resolv 
ed  in  parliament  that,  should  the  testimony  collected  justify  their 
suspicions,  they  would  have  him  seized  and  brought  before  them  ; 
would  give  him  a  brief  trial,  and  if  convicted,  would  hang  him 
in  the  court-yard  of  the  palace,  and  throw  open  the  gates  after  the 
execution,  that  the  public  might  behold  his  corpse ! 

Law  received  intimation  of  the  danger  hanging  over  him,  and 
was  in  terrible  trepidation.  He  took  refuge  in  the  Palais  Royal, 
the  residence  of  the  Regent,  and  implored  his  protection.  The 
Regent  himself  was  embarrassed  by  the  sturdy  opposition  of  parlia 
ment,  which  contemplated  nothing  less  than  a  decree  reversing 
most  of  his  public  measures,  especially  those  of  finance.  His  in 
decision  kept  Law  for  a  time  in  an  agony  of  terror  and  suspense. 
Finally,  by  assembling  a  board  of  justice,  and  bringing  to  his  aid 
the  absolute  authority  of  the  king,  he  triumphed  over  parliament, 
and  relieved  Law  from  his  dread  of  being  hanged. 

The  system  now  went  on  with  flowing  sail.  The  Western,  or 
Mississippi  Company,  being  identified  with  the  bank,  rapidly  in 
creased  in  power  and  privileges.  One  monopoly  after  another 
was  granted  to  it ;  the  trade  of  the  Indian  Seas ;  the  slave  trade 
with  Senegal  and  Guinea ;  the  farming  of  tobacco ;  the  national 
coinage,  etc.  Each  new  privilege  was  made  a  pretext  for  issuing 
more  bills,  and  caused  an  immense  advance  in  the  price  of  stock. 
At  length,  on  the  4th  of  December,  1718,  the  Regent  gave  the  es 
tablishment  the  imposing  title  of  THE  ROYAL  BANK,  and  pro 
claimed  that  he  had  effected  the  purchase  of  all  the  shares,  the  pro 
ceeds  of  which  he  had  added  to  its  capital.  This  measure  seemed 
to  shock  the  public  feeling  more  than  any  other  connected  with 
the  system,  and  roused  the  indignation  of  parliament.  The  French 


THE  GREAT'  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  167 


nation  had  been  so  accustomed  to.  attach  an  idea  of  every  thing 
noble,  lofty,  and  magnificent,  to  the  royal  name  and  person,  es 
pecially  during  the  stately  and  sumptuous  reign  of  Louis  XIV., 
that  they  could  not  at  first  tolerate  the  idea  of  royalty  being  in  any 
degree  mingled  with  matters  of  traffic  and  finance,  and  the  king 
being  in  a  manner  a  banker.  It  was  one  of  the  downward  steps, 
however,  by  which  royalty  lost  its  illusive  splendor  in  France  and 
became  gradually  cheapened  in  the  public  mind. 

Arbitrary  measures  now  began  to  be  taken  to  force  the  bills 
of  the  bank  into  artificial  currency.  On  the  27th  of  December,  ap 
peared  an  order  in  council,  forbidding,  under  severe  penalties,  the 
payment  of  any  sum  above  six  hundred  livres  in  gold  or  silver. 
This  decree  rendered  bank  bills  necessary  in  all  transactions  of 
purchase  and  sale,  and  called  for  a  new  emission.  The  prohibi 
tion  was  occasionally  evaded  or  opposed ;  confiscations  were  the 
consequence ;  informers  were  rewarded,  and  spies  and  traitors  be 
gan  to  spring  up  in  all  the  domestic  walks  of  life. 

The  worst  effect  of  this  illusive  system  was  the  mania  for 
gain,  or  rather  for  gambling  in  stocks,  that  now  seized  upon  the 
whole  nation.  Under  the  exciting  effects  of  lying  reports,  and 
the  forcing  effects  of  government  decrees,  the  shares  of  the  com 
pany  went  on  rising  in  value,  until  they  reached  thirteen  hundred 
per  cent.  Nothing  was  now  spoken  of  but  the  price  of  shares, 
and  the  immense  fortunes  suddenly  made  by  lucky  speculators. 
Those  whom  Law  had  deluded  used  every  means  to  delude  others. 
The  most  extravagant  dreams  were  indulged,  concerning  the  wealth 
to  flow  in  upon  the  company,  from  its  colonies,  its  trade,  and  its 
various  monopolies.  It  is  true,  nothing  as  yet  had  been  realized, 
nor  could  in  some  time  be  realized,  from  these  distant  sources, 


168  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PKOSPERITY. 


even  if  productive ;  but  the  imaginations  of  speculators  are  ever 
in  the  advance,  and  their  conjectures  are  immediately  converted 
into  facts.  Lying  reports  now  flew  from  mouth  to  mouth,  of  sure 
avenues  to  fortune  suddenly  thrown  open.  The  more  extrava 
gant  the  fable,  the  more  readily  was  it  believed.  To  doubt,  was 
to  awaken  anger,  or  incur  ridicule.  In  a  time  of  public  infatua 
tion,  it  requires  no  small  exercise  of  courage  to  doubt  a  popular 
fallacy. 

Paris  now  became  the  centre  of  attraction  for  the  adventurous 
and  the  avaricious,  who  flocked  to  it  not  merely  from  the  prov 
inces,  but  from  neighboring  countries.  A  stock  exchange  was  es 
tablished  in  a  house  in  the  Rue  Quincampoix,  and  became  imme 
diately  the  gathering  place  of  stock-jobbers.  The  exchange  open 
ed  at  seven  o'clock  with  the  beat  of  drum  and  sound  of  bell,  and 
closed  at  night  with  the  same  signals.  Guards  were  stationed  at 
each  end  of  the  street,  to  maintain  order  and  exclude  carriages 
and  horses.  The  whole  street  swarmed  throughout  the  day  like  a 
bee-hive.  Bargains  of  all  kinds  were  seized  upon  with  avidity. 
Shares  of  stock  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  mounting  in  value,  one 
knew  not  why.  Fortunes  were  made  in  a  moment  as  if  by  magic ; 
and  every  lucky  bargain  prompted  those  around  to  a  more  despe 
rate  throw  of  the  die.  The  fever  went  on,  increasing  in  intensity 
as  the  day  declined ;  and  when  the  drum  beat,  and  the  bell  rang,  at 
night,  to  close  the  exchange,  there  were  exclamations  of  impatience 
and  despair,  as  if  the  wheel  of  fortune  had  suddenly  been  stopped, 
when  about  to  make  its  luckiest  evolution. 

To  ingulf  all  classes  in  this  ruinous  vortex,  Law  now  split  the 
shares  of  fifty  millions  of  stock  each  into  one  hundred  shares  ; 
thus,  as  in  the  splitting  of  lottery  tickets,  accommodating  the  ven- 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  169 


Jo  \\ )  himiblesfc  purse.  Society  was  thus  stirred  up  to  its 
very  tatgs,  and  adventurers  of  the  lowest  order  hurried  to  the 
stock  irarkst.  All  honest,  industrious  pursuits,  and  modest 
gains,  were  now  despised.  Wealth  was  to  be  obtained  instantly, 
without  labor,  and  without  stint.  The  upper  classes  were  as  base 
in  their  venality  as  the  lower.  The  highest  and  most  powerful 
nobles,  abandoning  all  generous  pursuits  and  lofty  aims,  engaged 
in  the  vile  scuffle  for  gain.  They  were  even  baser  than  the  lower 
classes ;  for  some  of  them,  who  \\  ere  members  of  the  council  of 
the  regency,  abused  their  station  and  their  influence,  and  promo 
ted  measures  by  which  shares  arose  while  in  their  hands,  and 
they  made  immense  profits. 

The  Duke  de  Bourbon,  the  Prince  of  Conti,  the  Dukes  de  la 
Force  and  D'Antin,  were  among  the  foremost  of  these  illustrious 
stock-jobbers.  They  were  nicknamed  the  Mississippi  Lords,  and 
they  smiled  at  the  sneering  title.  In  fact,  the  usual  distinctions 
of  society  had  lost  their  consequence,  under  the  reign  of  this  new 
passion.  Rank,  talent,  military  fame,  no  longer  inspired  defer 
ence.  All  respect  for  others,  all  self-respect,  were  forgotten  in 
the  mercenary  struggle  of  the  stock-market.  Even  prelates  and 
ecclesiastical  corporations,  forgetting  their  true  objects  of  devo 
tion,  mingled  among  the  votaries  of  mammon.  They  were  not 
behind  those  who  wielded  the  civil  power  in  fabricating  ordinances 
suited  to  their  avaricious  purposes.  Theological  decisions  forth 
with  appeared,  in  which  the  anathema  launched  by  the  church 
against  usury,  was  conveniently  construed  as  not  extending  to  the 
trams  in  bank  shares  ! 

The  Abbe  Dubois  entered  into  the  mysteries  of  stock-jobbing 

with  all  the  zeal  of  an  apostle,  and  enriched  himself  by  the  spoils 

8 


170  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


of  the  credulous;  and  he  continually  drew  large  sums  from  Law 
as  considerations  for  his  political  influence.  Faithless  to  his 
country,  in  the  course  of  his  gambling  speculations  he  transferred 
to  England  a  great  amount  of  specie,  which  had  been  paid  into 
the  royal  treasury ;  thus  contributing  to  the  subsequent  dearth 
of  the  precious  metals. 

The  female  sex  participated  in  this  sordid  frenzy.  Princesses 
of  the  blood,  and  ladies  of  the  highest  nobility,  were  among  the 
most  rapacious  of  stock-jobbers.  The  Regent  seemed  to  have  the 
riches  of  Croesus  at  his  command,  and  lavished  money  by  hun 
dreds  of  thousands  upon  his  female  relatives  and  favorites,  as  well 
as  upon  his  roues,  the  dissolute  companions  of  his  debauches. 
"  My  son,"  writes  the  Regent's  mother,  in  her  correspondence, 
"  gave  me  shares  to  the  amount  of  two  millions,  which  I  distri 
buted  among  my  household.  The  king  also  took  several  millions 
for  his  own  household.  All  the  royal  family  have  had  them ;  all 
the  children  and  grandchildren  of  France,  and  the  princes  of  the 
blood." 

Luxury  and  extravagance  kept  pace  with  this  sudden  inflation 
of  fancied  wealth.  The  hereditary  palaces  of  nobles  were  pulled 
down,  and  rebuilt  on  a  scale  of  augmented  splendor.  Entertain 
ments  were  given,  of  incredible  cost  and  magnificence.  Never 
before  had  been  such  display  in  houses,  furniture,  equipages,  and 
amusements.  This  was  particularly  the  case  among  persons  of 
the  lower  ranks,  who  had  suddenly  become  possessed  of  millions. 
Ludicrous  anecdotes  are  related  of  some  of  these  upstarts.  One, 
who  had  just  launched  a  splendid  carriage,  when  about  to  use  it 
for  the  first  time,  instead  of  getting  in  at  the  door,  mounted, 
through  habitude,  to  his  accustomed  place  behind.  Some  ladies 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  171 


of  quality,  seeing  a  well-dressed  woman  covered  with  diamonds, 
but  whom  nobody  knew,  alight  from  a  very  handsome  carriage, 
inquired  who  she  was,  of  the  footman.  He  replied,  with  a  sneer : 
"  It  is  a  lady  who  has  recently  tumbled  from  a  garret  into  this 
carriage."  Mr.  Law's  domestics  were  said  to  become  in  like  man 
ner  suddenly  enriched  by  the  crumbs  that  fell  from  his  table. 
His  coachman,  having  made  a  fortune,  retired  from  his  service. 
Mr.  Law  requested  him  to  procure  a  coachman  in  his  place.  He 
appeared  the  next  day  with  two,  whom  he  pronounced  equally 
good,  and  told  Mr.  Law :  "  Take  which  of  them  you  choose,  and 
I  will  take  the  other!" 

Nor  were  these  novi  homini  treated  with  the  distance  and 
disdain  they  would  formerly  have  experienced  from  the  haughty 
aristocracy  of  France.  The  pride  of  the  old  noblesse  had  been 
stifled  by  the  stronger  instinct  of  avarice.  They  rather  sought 
the  intimacy  and  confidence  of  these  lucky  upstarts ;  and  it  has 
been  observed  that  a  nobleman  would  gladly  take  his  seat  at  the 
table  of  the  fortunate  lackey  of  yesterday,  in  hopes  of  learning 
from  him  the  secret  of  growing  rich ! 

Law  now  went  about  with  a  countenance  radiant  with  success, 
and  apparently  dispensing  wealth  on  every  side.  "  He  is  admira 
bly  skilled  in  all  that  relates  to  finance,"  writes  the  Duchess  of 
Orleans,  the  Regent's  mother,  "  and  has  put  the  affairs  of  the 
state  in  such  good  order,  that  all  the  king's  debts  have  been 
paid.  He  is  so  much  run  after,  that  he  has  no  repose  night  or 
day.  A  duchess  even  kissed  his  hand  publicly.  If  a  duchess  can 
do  this,  what  will  other  ladies  do  ! " 

Wherever  he  went,  his  path,  we  are  told,  was  beset  by  a  sor 
did  throng,  who  waited  to  see  him  pass,  and  sought  to  obtain  the 


172  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


favor  of  a  word,  a  nod,  or  smile,  as  if  a  mere  glance  from  him 
would  bestow  fortune.  When  at  home,  his  house  was  absolutely 
besieged  by  furious  candidates  for  fortune.  "  They  forced  the 
doors,"  says  the  Duke  de  St.  Simon ;  "  they  scaled  his  windows 
from  the  garden ;  they  made  their  way  into  his  cabinet  down  the 
chimney ! " 

The  same  venal  court  was  paid  by  all  classes  to  his  family. 
The  highest  ladies  of  the  court  vied  with  each  other  in  mean 
nesses,  to  purchase  the  lucrative  friendship  of  Mrs.  Law  and  her 
daughter.  They  waited  upon  them  with  as  much  assiduity  and 
adulation  as  if  they  had  been  princesses  of  the  blood.  The  Re 
gent  one  day  expressed  a  desire  that  some  duchess  should  accom 
pany  his  daughter  to  Genoa.  "  My  Lord,"  said  some  one  present, 
"  if  you  would  have  a  choice  from  among  the  duchesses,  you  need 
but  send  to  Mrs.  Law's ;  you  will  find  them  all  assembled  there." 

The  wealth  of  Law  rapidly  increased  with  the  expansion  of 
the  bubble.  In  the  course  of  a  few  months,  he  purchased  four 
teen  titled  estates,  paying  for  them  in  paper;  and  the  public 
hailed  these  sudden  and  vast  acquisitions  of  landed  property,  as 
so  many  proofs  of  the  soundness  of  his  system.  In  one  instance, 
he  met  with  a  shrewd  bargainer,  who  had  not  the  general  faith  in 
his  paper  money.  The  President  de  Novion  insisted  on  being 
paid  for  an  estate  in  hard  coin.  Law  accordingly  brought  the 
amount,  four  hundred  thousand  livres,  in  specie,  saying,  with  a 
sarcastic  smile,  that  he  preferred  paying  in  money,  as  its  weight 
rendered  it  a  mere  incumbrance.  As  it  happened,  the  President 
could  give  no  clear  title  to  the  land,  and  the  money  had  to  be  re 
funded.  He  paid  it  back  in  paper,  which  Law  dared  not  refuse, 
lest  he  should  depreciate  it  in  the  market ! 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  173 


The  course  of  illusory  credit  went  on  triumphantly  for  eighteen 
months.  Law  had  nearly  fulfilled  one  of  his  promises,  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  public  debt  had  been  paid  off;  but  how  paid  ? 
In  bank  shares,  which  had  been  trumped  up  several  hundred  per 
cent,  above  their  value,  and  which  were  to  vanish  like  smoke  in 
the  hands  of  the  holders. 

One  of  the  most  striking  attributes  of  Law,  was  the  imper 
turbable  assurance  and  self-possession  with  which  he  replied  to 
every  objection,  and  found  a  solution  for  every  problem.  He  had 
the  dexterity  of  a  juggler  in  evading  difficulties ;  and  what  was 
peculiar,  made  figures  themselves,  which  are  the  very  elements  of 
exact  demonstration,  the  means  to  dazzle  and  bewilder. 

Toward  the  latter  end  of  1719,  the  Mississippi  scheme  had 
reached  its  highest  point  of  glory.  Half  a  million  of  strangers 
had  crowded  into  Paris,  in  quest  of  fortune.  The  hotels  and 
lodging-houses  were  overflowing;  lodgings  were  procured  with 
excessive  difficulty ;  granaries  were  turned  into  bedrooms ;  pro 
visions  had  risen  enormously  in  price ;  splendid  houses  were  mul 
tiplying  on  every  side ;  the  streets  were  crowded  with  carriages ; 
above  a  thousand  new  equipages  had  been  launched. 

On  the  eleventh  of  December,  Law  obtained  another  prohibi 
tory  decree,  for  the  purpose  of  sweeping  all  the  remaining  specie 
in  circulation  into  the  bank.  By  this  it  was  forbidden  to  make 
any  payments  in  silver  above  ten  livres,  or  in  gold  above  three 
hundred. 

The  repeated  decrees  of  this  nature,  the  object  of  which  was 
to  depreciate  the  value  of  gold,  and  increase  the  illusive  credit  of 
paper,  began  to  awaken  doubts  of  a  system  which  required  such 
bolstering.  Capitalists  gradually  awoke  from  their  bewilderment. 


A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


Sound  and  able  financiers  consulted  together,  and  agreed  to  make 
common  cause  against  this  continual  expansion  of  a  paper  system. 
The  shares  of  the  bank  and  of  the  company  began  to  decline  in 
value.  Wary  men  took  the  alarm,  and  began  to  realize,  a  word 
now  first  brought  into  use,  to  express  the  conversion  of  ideal  pro 
perty  into  something  real. 

The  Prince  of  Conti,  one  of  the  most  prominent  and  grasping 
of  the  Mississippi  lords,  was  the  first  to  give  a  blow  to  the  credit 
of  the  bank.  There  was  a  mixture  of  ingratitude  in  his  conduct, 
that  characterized  the  venal  baseness  of  the  times.  He  had  re 
ceived,  from  time  to  time,  enormous  sums  from  Law,  as  the  price 
of  his  influence  and  patronage.  His  avarice  had  increased  with 
every  acquisition,  until  Law  was  compelled  to  refuse  one  of  his 
exactions.  In  revenge,  the  prince  immediately  sent  such  an 
amount  of  paper  to  the  bank  to  be  cashed,  that  it  required  four 
waggons  to  bring  away  the  silver,  and  he  had  the  meanness  to  loll 
out  of  the  window  of  his  hotel,  and  jest  and  exult,  as  it  was  trun 
dled  into  his  port  cochere. 

This  was  the  signal  for  other  drains  of  like  nature.  The  Eng 
lish  and  Dutch  merchants,  who  had  purchased  a  great  amount  of 
bank  paper  at  low  prices,  cashed  them  at  the  bank,  and  carried  the 
money  out  of  the  country.  Other  strangers  did  the  like,  thus 
draining  the  kingdom  of  its  specie,  and  leaving  paper  in  its  place. 

The  Regent,  perceiving  these  symptoms  of  decay  in  the  sys 
tem,  sought  to  restore  it  to  public  confidence,  by  conferring  marks 
of  confidence  upon  its  author.  He  accordingly  resolved  to  make 
Law  Comptroller  General  of  the  Finances  of  France.  There  was 
a  material  obstacle  in  the  way.  Law  was  a  protestant,  and  the 
Regent,  unscrupulous  as  he  was  himself,  did  not  dare  publicly  to 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  175 


outrage  the  severe  edicts  which  Lous  XIV.,  in  his  bigot  days, 
had  fulminated  against  all  heretics.  Law  soon  let  him  know  that 
there  would  be  no  difficulty  on  that  head.  He  was  ready  at  any 
moment  to  abjure  his  religion  in  the  way  of  business.  For  decen 
cy's  sake,  however,  it  was  judged  proper  he  should  previously  be 
convinced  and  converted.  A  ghostly  instructor  was  soon  found, 
ready  to  accomplish  his  conversion  in  the  shortest  possible  time. 
This  was  the  Abbe  Tencin,  a  profligate  creature  of  the  profligate 
Dubois,  and  like  him  working  his  way  to  ecclesiastical  promotion 
and  temporal  wealth,  by  the  basest  means. 

Under  the  instructions  of  the  Abbe  Tencin,  Law  soon  mastered 
the  mysteries  and  dogmas  of  the  Catholic  doctrine ;  and,  after  a 
brief  course  of  ghostly  training,  declared  himself  thoroughly  con 
vinced  and  converted.  To  avoid  the  sneers  and  jests  of  the 
Parisian  public,  the  ceremony  of  abjuration  took  place  at  Melun. 
Law  made  a  pious  present  of  one  hundred  thousand  livres  to  the 
Church  of  St.  Roque,  and  the  Abbe  Tencin  was  rewarded  for  his 
edifying  labors,  by  sundry  shares  and  bank-bills,  which  he 
shrewdly  took  care  to  convert  into  cash,  having  as  little  faith  in 
the  system,  as  in  the  piety  of  his  new  convert.  A  more  grave 
and  moral  community  might  have  been  outraged  by  this  scandal 
ous  farce ;  but  the  Parisians  laughed  at  it  with  their  usual  levity, 
and  contented  themselves  with  making  it  the  subject  of  a  number 
of  songs  and  epigrams. 

Law  being  now  orthodox  in  his  faith,  took  out  letters  of  natu 
ralization,  and  having  thus  surmounted  the  intervening  obstacles, 
was  elevated  by  the  Regent  to  the  post  of  Comptroller  General. 
So  accustomed  had  the  community  become  to  all  juggles  and 
transmutations  in  this  hero  of  finance,  that  no  one  seemed  shocked 


176  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PEOSPERITY. 


or  astonished  at  his  sudden  elevation.  On  the  contrary,  being 
now  considered  perfectly  established  in  place  and  power,  he  be 
came  more  than  ever  the  object  of  venal  adoration.  Men  of  rank 
and  dignity  thronged  his  antechamber,  waiting  patiently  their  turn 
for  an  audience ;  and  titled  dames  demeaned  themselves  to  take 
the  front  seats  of  the  carriages  of  his  wife  and  daughter,  as  if  they 
had  been  riding  with  princesses  of  the  blood  royal.  Law's  head 
grew  giddy  with  his  elevation,  and  he  began  to  aspire  after  aris- 
tocratical  distinction.  There  was  to  be  a  court  ball,  at  which 
several  of  the  young  noblemen  were  to  dance  in  a  ballet  with  the 
youthful  king.  Law  requested  that  his  son  might  be  admitted 
into  the  ballet,  and  the  Regent  consented.  The  young  scions  of 
nobility,  however,  were  indignant,  and  scouted  the  "  intruding  up 
start."  Their  more  worldly  parents,  fearful  of  displeasing  the 
modern  Midas,  reprimanded  them  in  vain.  The  striplings  had  not 
yet  imbibed  the  passion  for  gain,  and  still  held  to  their  high  blood. 
The  son  of  the  banker  received  slights  and  annoyances  on  all 
sides,  and  the  public  applauded  them  for  their  spirit.  A  fit  of 
illness  came  opportunely  to  relieve  the  youth  from  an  honor  which 
would  have  cost  him  a  world  of  vexations  and  affronts. 

In  February,  1720,  shortly  after  Law's  instalment  in  office,  a 
decree  came  out,  uniting  the  bank  to  the  India  Company,  by 
which  last  name  the  whole  establishment  was  now  known.  The 
decree  stated,  that  as  the  bank  was  royal,  the  king  was  bound  to 
make  good  the  value  of  its  bills ;  that  he  committed  to  the  com 
pany  the  government  of  the  bank  for  fifty  years,  and  sold  to  it 
fifty  millions  of  stock  belonging  to  him,  for  nine  hundred  millions; 
a  simple  advance  of  eighteen  hundred  per  cent.  The  decree  far 
ther  declared,  in  the  king's  name,  that  he  would  never  draw  on 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  177 


the  bank,  until  the  value  of  his  drafts  had  first  been  lodged  in  it 
by  his  receivers  general. 

The  bank,  it  was  said,  had  by  this  time  issued  notes  to  the 
amount  of  one  thousand  millions  ;  being  more  paper  than  all  the 
banks  of  Europe  were  able  to  circulate.  To  aid  its  credit,  the 
receivers  of  the  revenue  were  directed  to  take  bank-notes  of  the 
sub-receivers.  All  payments,  also,  of  one  hundred  livres  and  up 
ward,  were  ordered  to  be  made  in  bank-notes.  These  compulso 
ry  measures  for  a  short  time  gave  a  false  credit  to  the  bank, 
which  proceeded  to  discount  merchants'  notes,  to  lend  money  on 
jewels,  plate,  and  other  valuables,  as  well  as  on  mortgages. 

Still  farther  to  force  on  the  system,  an  edict  next  appeared, 
forbidding  any  individual,  or  any  corporate  body,  civil  or  reli 
gious,  to  hold  in  possession  more  than  five  hundred  livres  in  current 
coin ;  that  is  to  say,  about  seven  louis-d'ors ;  the  value  of  the 
louis-d'or  in  paper  being,  at  the  time,  seventy-two  livres.  All 
the  gold  and  silver  they  might  have,  above  this  pittance,  was  to 
be  brought  to  the  royal  bank,  and  exchanged  either  for  shares 
or  bills. 

As  confiscation  was  the  penalty  of  disobedience  to  this  decree, 
and  informers  were  assured  a  share  of  the  forfeitures,  a  bounty 
was  in  a  manner  held  out  to  domestic  spies  and  traitors ;  and 
the  most  odious  scrutiny  was  awakened  into  the  pecuniary  affairs 
of  families  and  individuals.  The  very  confidence  between  friends 
and  relatives  was  impaired,  and  all  the  domestic  ties  and  virtues 
of  society  were  threatened,  until  a  general  sentiment  of  indigna 
tion  broke  forth,  that  compelled  the  Regent  to  rescind  the  odious 
decree.  Lord  Stairs,  the  British  ambassador,  speaking  of  the 
system  of  espionage  encouraged  by  this  edict,  observed  that  it 


178  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


was  impossible  to  doubt  that  Law  was  a  thorough  Catholic,  since 
he  had  thus  established  the  inquisition,  after  having  already 
proved  transubstantiation,  by  changing  specie  into  paper. 

Equal  abuses  had  taken  place  under  the  colonizing  project. 
In  his  thousand  expedients  to  amass  capital,  Law  had  sold  par 
cels  of  land  in  Mississippi,  at  the  rate  of  three  thousand  livres 
for  a  league  square.  Many  capitalists  had  purchased  estates 
large  enough  to  constitute  almost  a  principality ;  the  only  evil 
was,  Law  had  sold  a  property  which  he  could  not  deliver.  The 
agents  of  police,  who  aided  in  recruiting  the  ranks  of  the  colonists, 
had  been  guilty  of  scandalous  impositions.  Under  pretence  of 
taking  up  mendicants  and  vagabonds,  they  had  scoured  the  streets 
at  night,  seizing  upon  honest  mechanics,  or  their  sons,  and  hurrying 
them  to  their  crimping-houses,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  extort 
ing  money  from  them  as  a  ransom.  The  populace  was  roused 
to  indignation  by  these  abuses.  The  officers  of  police  were  mob 
bed  in  the  exercise  of  their  odious  functions,  and  several  of  them 
were  killed,  which  put  an  end  to  this  flagrant  abuse  of  power. 

In  March,  a  most  extraordinary  decree  of  the  council  fixed 
the  price  of  shares  of  the  India  Company  at  nine  thousand  livres 
each.  All  ecclesiastical  communities  and  hospitals  were  now  pro 
hibited  from  investing  money  at  interest,  in  any  thing  but  India 
stock.  With  all  these  props  and  stays,  the  system  continued  to 
totter.  How  could  it  be  otherwise,  under  a  despotic  government, 
that  could  alter  the  value  of  property  at  every  moment  ?  The 
very  compulsory  measures  that  were  adopted  to  establish  the 
credit  of  the  bank,  hastened  its  fall ;  plainly  showing  there  was 
a  want  of  solid  security.  Law  caused  pamphlets  to  be  published, 
setting  forth,  in  eloquent  language,  the  vast  profits  that  must  ac- 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  179 


orue  to  holders  of  the  stock,  and  the  impossibility  of  the  king's  ever 
doing  it  any  harm.  On  the  very  back  of  these  assertions,  came 
forth  an  edict  of  the  king,  dated  the  22d  of  May,  wherein,  under 
pretence  of  having  reduced  the  value  of  his  coin,  it  was  declared 
necessary  to  reduce  the  value  of  his  bank-notes  one  half,  and  of 
the  India  shares  from  nine  thousand  to  five  thousand  livres  ! 

This  decree  came  like  a  clap  of  thunder  upon  shareholders. 
They  found  one  half  of  the  pretended  value  of  the  paper  in  their 
hands  annihilated  in  an  instant :  and  what  certainty  had  they 
with  respect  to  the  other  half  ?  The  rich  considered  themselves 
ruined-;  those  in  humbler  circumstances  looked  forward  to  abject 
beggary. 

The  parliament  seized  the  occasion  to  stand  forth  as  the  pro 
tector  of  the  public,  and  refused  to  register  the  decree.  It 
gained  the  credit  of  compelling  the  Regent  to  retrace  his  step, 
though  it  is  more  probable  he  yielded  to  the  universal  burst  of 
public  astonishment  and  reprobation.  On  the  27th  of  May,  the 
edict  was  revoked,  and  bank-bills  were  restored  to  their  previous 
value.  But  the  fatal  blow  had  been  struck ;  the  delusion  was  at 
an  end.  Government  itself  had  lost  all  public  confidence,  equal 
ly  with  the  bank  it  had  engendered,  and  which  its  own  arbitrary 
acts  had  brought  into  discredit.  "  All  Paris,"  says  the  Regent's 
mother,  in  her  letters,  "  has  been  mourning  at  the  cursed  decree 
which  Law  has  persuaded  my  son  to  make.  I  have  received  anony 
mous  letters,  stating  that  I  have  nothing  to  fear  on  my  own  ac 
count,  but  that  my  son  shall  be  pursued  with  fire  and  sword." 

The  Regent  now  endeavored  to  avert  the  odium  of  his  ruin 
ous  schemes  from  himself.  He  affected  to  have  suddenly  lost 
confidence  in  Law,  and  on  the  29th  of  May,  discharged  him  from 


180  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


his  employ,  as  Comptroller  General,  and  stationed  a  Swiss  guard 
of  sixteen  men  in  his  house.  He  even  refused  to  see  him,  when, 
on  the  following  day,  he  applied  at  the  portal  of  the  Palais  Royal 
for  admission  :  but  having  played  off  this  farce  before  the  public, 
he  admitted  him  secretly  the  same  night,  by  a  private  door,  and 
continued  as  before  to  co-operate  with  him  in  his  financial 
schemes. 

On  the  first  of  June,  the  Regent  issued  a  decree,  permitting 
persons  to  have  as  much  money  as  they  pleased  in  their  posses 
sion.  Few,  however,  were  in  a  state  to  benefit  by  this  permis 
sion.  There  was  a  run  upon  the  bank,  but  a  royal  ordinance 
immediately  suspended  payment,  until  farther  orders.  To  relieve 
the  public  mind,  a  city  stock  was  created,  of  twenty-five  millions, 
bearing  an  interest  of  two  and  a  half  per  cent.,  for  which  bank 
notes  were  taken  in  exchange.  The  bank-notes  thus  withdrawn 
from  circulation,  were  publicly  burnt  before  the  Hotel  de  Yille. 
The  public,  however,  had  lost  confidence  in  every  thing  and  every 
body,  and  suspected  fraud  and  collusion  in  those  who  pretended 
to  burn  the  bills. 

A  general  confusion  now  took  place  in  the  financial  world. 
Families  who  had  lived  in  opulence,  found  themselves  suddenly 
reduced  to  indigence.  Schemers  who  had  been  revelling  in  the 
delusion  of-  princely  fortunes,  found  their  estates  vanishing  into 
thin  air.  Those  who  had  any  property  remaining,  sought  to  se 
cure  it  against  reverses.  Cautious  persons  found  there  was  no 
safety  for  property  in  a  country  where  the  coin  was  continually 
shifting  in  value,  and  where  a  despotism  was  exercised  over  public 
securities,  and  even  over  the  private  purses  of  individuals.  They 
began  to  send  their  effects  into  other  countries  ;  when  lo  !  on  the 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  181 


20th  of  June,  a  royal  edict  commanded  them  to  bring  back  their 
effects,  under  penalty  of  forfeiting  twice  their  value ;  and  forbade 
them,  under  like  penalty,  from  investing  their  money  in  foreign 
stocks.  This  was  soon  followed  by  an  another  decree,  forbidding 
any  one  to  retain  precious  stones  in  his  possession,  or  to  sell  them 
to  foreigners  :  all  must  be  deposited  in  the  bank,  in  exchange 
for  depreciating  paper  ! 

Execrations  were  now  poured  out,  on  all  sides,  against  Law. 
and  menaces  of  vengeance.  What  a  contrast,  in  a  short  time,  to 
the  venal  incense  once  offered  up  to  him  !  "  This  person,"  writes 
the  Regent's  mother,  "  who  was  formerly  worshipped  as  a  god, 
is  now  not  sure  of  his  life.  It  is  astonishing  how  greatly 
terrified  he  is.  He  is  as  a  dead  man ;  he  is  pale  as  a  sheet,  and 
it  is  said  he  can  never  get  over  it.  My  son  is  not  dismayed, 
though  he  is  threatened  on  all  sides,  and  is  very  much  amused 
with  Law's  terrors." 

About  the  middle  of  July,  the  last  grand  attempt  was  made 
by  Law  and  the  Regent,  to  keep  up  the  system,  and  provide  for 
the  immense  emission  of  paper.  A  decree  was  fabricated,  giving 
the  India  Company  the  entire  monopoly  of  commerce,  on  condi 
tion  that  it  would,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  reimburse  six  hundred 
millions  of  livres  of  its  bills,  at  the  rate  of  fifty  millions  per 
month. 

On  the  1 7th,  this  decree  was  sent  to  parliament  to  be  regis 
tered.  It  at  once  raised  a  storm  of  opposition  in  that  assembly ; 
and  a  vehement  discussion  took  place.  While  that  was  going  on, 
a  disastrous  scene  was  passing  out  of  doors. 

The  calamitous  effects  of  the  system  had  reached  the  hum- 
b'est  concerns  of  human  life.  Provisions  had  risen  to  an  enor- 


182  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


mous  price ;  paper  money  was  refused  at  all  the  shops ;  the  people 
had  not  wherewithal  to  buy  bread.  It  had  been  found  absolutely 
indispensable  to  relax  a  little  from  the  suspension  of  specie  pay 
ments,  and  to  allow  small  sums  to  be  scantily  exchanged  for  paper. 
The  doors  of  the  bank  and  the  neighboring  street  were  immediate 
ly  thronged  with  a  famishing  multitude,  seeking  cash  for  bank 
notes  of  ten  livres.  So  great  was  the  press  and  struggle,  that 
several  persons  were  stifled  and  crushed  to  death.  The  mob  car 
ried  three  of  the  bodies  to  the  court-yard  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
Some  cried  for  the  Regent  to  come  forth,  and  behold  the  effect 
of  his  system ;  others  demanded  the  death  of  Law,  the  impostor, 
who  had  brought  this  misery  and  ruin  upon  the  nation. 

The  moment  was  critical :  the  popular  fury  was  rising  to  a 
tempest,  when  Le  Blanc,  the  Secretary  of  State,  stepped  forth. 
He  had  previously  sent  for  the  military,  and  now  only  sought  to 
gain  time.  Singling  out  six  or  seven  stout  fellows,  who  seemed 
to  be  the  ringleaders  of  the  mob ;  "  My  good  fellows,"  said  he, 
calmly,  "  carry  away  these  bodies,  and  place  them  in  some  church, 
and  then  come  back  quickly  to  me  for  your  pay."  They  imme 
diately  obeyed ;  a  kind  of  funeral  procession  was  formed ;  the 
arrival  of  troops  dispersed  those  who  lingered  behind ;  and  Paris 
was  probably  saved  from  an  insurrection. 

About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  all  being  quiet,  Law  ven 
tured  to  go  in  his  carriage  to  the  Palais  Royal.  He  was  salut 
ed  with  cries  and  curses,  as  he  passed  along  the  streets  ;  and  he 
reached  the  Palais  Royal  in  a  terrible  fright.  The  Regent 
amused  himself  with  his  fears,  but  retained  him  with  him,  and 
sent  off  his  carriage,  which  was  assailed  by  the  mob,  pelted  with 
stones,  and  the  glasses  shivered.  The  news  of  this  outrage  was 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  183 


communicated  to  parliament  in  the  midst  of  a  furious  discussion 
of  the  decree  for  the  commercial  monopoly.  The  first  president, 
who  had  been  absent  for  a  short  time,  re-entered,  and  communicat 
ed  the  tidings  in  a  whimsical  couplet  : 

"  Messieurs,  Messieurs !  bonne  nouvelle ! 
Le  carrosse  de  Law  est  reduite  en  carrelle !  " 

"  Gentlemen,  Gentlemen !  good  news ! 
The  carriage  of  Law  is  shivered  to  atoms ! " 

The  members  sprang  up  with  joy ;  "  And  Law ! "  exclaimed 
they,  "  has  he  been  torn  to  pieces  ?  "  The  president  was  igno 
rant  of  the  result  of  the  tumult ;  whereupon  the  debate  was  cut 
short,  the  decree  rejected,  and  the  house  adjourned;  the  members 
hurrying  to  learn  the  particulars.  Such  was  the  levity  with  which 
public  affairs  were  treated,  at  that  dissolute  and  disastrous  period. 

On  the  following  day,  there  was  an  ordinance  from  the  king, 
prohibiting  all  popular  assemblages ;  and  troops  were  stationed  at 
various  points,  and  in  all  public  places.  The  regiment  of  guards 
was  ordered  to  hold  itself  in  readiness ;  and  the  musketeers  to 
be  at  their  hotels,  with  their  horses  ready  saddled.  A  number  of 
small  offices  were  opened,  where  people  might  cash  small  notes, 
though  with  great  delay  and  difficulty.  An  edict  was  also  issued, 
declaring  that  whoever  should  refuse  to  take  bank-notes  in  the 
course  of  trade,  should  forfeit  double  the  amount ! 

The  continued  and  vehement  opposition  of  parliament  to  the 
whole  delusive  system  of  finance,  had  been  a  constant  source  of 
annoyance  to  the  Regent ;  but  this  obstinate  rejection  of  his  last 
grand  expedient  of  a  commercial  monopoly,  was  not  to  be  tolerat 
ed.  He  determined  to  punish  that  intractable  body.  The  Abbe 


184  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


Dubois  and  Law  suggested  a  simple  mode ;  it  was  to  suppress  the 
parliament  altogether,  being,  as  they  observed,  so  far  from  useful, 
that  it  was  a  constant  impediment  to  the  march  of  public  affairs. 
The  Regent  was  half  inclined  to  listen  to  their  advice  ;  but  upon 
calmer  consideration,  and  the  advice  of  friends,  he  adopted  a  more 
moderate  course.  On  the  20th  of  July,  early  in  the  morning,  all 
the  doors  of  the  parliament-house  were  taken  possession  of  by  the 
troops.  Others  were  sent  to  surround  the  house  of  the  first  presi 
dent,  and  others  to  the  houses  of  the  various  members ;  who  were 
all  at  first  in  great  alarm,  until  an  order  from  the  king  was  put 
into  their  hands,  to  render  themselves  at  Pontoise,  in  the  course 
of  two  days,  to  which  place  the  parliament  was  thus  suddenly  and 
arbitrarily  transferred. 

This  despotic  act,  says  Voltaire,  would  at  any  other  time  have 
caused  an  insurrection ;  but  one  half  of  the  Parisians  were  occu 
pied  by  their  ruin,  and  the  other  half  by  their  fancied  riches,  which 
were  soon  to  vanish.  The  president  and  members  of  parliament 
acquiesced  in  the  mandate  without  a  murmur ;  they  even  went  as 
if  on  a  party  of  pleasure,  and  made  every  preparation  to  lead  a 
joyous  life  in  their  exile.  The  musketeers,  who  held  possession 
of  the  vacated  parliament-house,  a  gay  corps  of  fashionable  young 
fellows,  amused  themselves  with  making  songs  and  pasquinades,  at 
the  expense  of  the  exiled  legislators ;  and  at  length,  to  pass  away 
time,  formed  themselves  into  a  mock  parliament;  elected  their 
presidents,  kings,  ministers,  and  advocates ;  took  their  seats  in 
due  form ;  arraigned  a  cat  at  their  bar,  in  place  of  the  Sieur  Law, 
and  after  giving  it  a  "  fair  trial,"  condemned  it  to  be  hanged.  In 
this  manner,  public  affairs  and  public  institutions  were  lightly 
turned  to  jest. 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  185 


As  to  the  exiled  parliament,  it  lived  gaily  and  luxuriously  at 
Pontoise,  at  the  public  expense ;  for  the  Regent  had  furnished 
funds,  as  usual,  with  a  lavish  hand.  The  first  president  had  the 
mansion  of  the  Duke  de  Bouillon  put  at  his  disposal,  all  ready 
furnished,  with  a  vast  and  delightful  garden  on  the  borders  of  a 
river.  There  he  kept  open  house  to  all  the  members  of  parlia 
ment.  Several  tables  were  spread  every  day,  all  furnished  lux 
uriously  and  splendidly ;  the  most  exquisite  wines  and  liquors, 
the  choicest  fruits  and  refreshments  of  all  kinds,  abounded.  A 
number  of  small  chariots  for  one  and  two  horses  were  always  at 
hand,  for  such  ladies  and  old  gentlemen  as  wished  to  take  an  air 
ing  after  dinner,  and  card  and  billiard  tables  for  such  as  chose 
to  amuse  themselves  in  that  way  until  supper.  The  sister  and 
the  daughter  of  the  first  president  did  the  honors  of  his  house, 
and  he  himself  presided  there  with  an  air  of  great  ease,  hospitali 
ty,  and  magnificence.  It  became  a  party  of  pleasure  to  drive 
from  Paris  to  Pontoise,  which  was  six  leagues  distant,  and  par 
take  of  the  amusements  and  festivities  of  the  place.  Business  was 
openly  slighted ;  nothing  was  thought  of  but  amusement.  Tho 
Regent  and  his  government  were  laughed  at,  and  made  the  sub 
jects  of  continual  pleasantries ;  while  the  enormous  expenses  in 
curred  by  this  idle  and  lavish  course  of  life,  more  than  doubled 
the  liberal  sums  provided.  This  was  the  way  in  which  the  par 
liament  resented  their  exile. 

During  all  this  time,  the  system  was  getting  more  and  more 
involved.  The  stock  exchange  had  some  time  previously  been  re 
moved  to  the  Place  Vendome ;  but  the  tumult  and  noise  becom 
ing  intolerable  to  the  residents  of  that  polite  quarter,  and  espe 
cially  to  the  chancellor,  whose  hotel  was  there,  the  Prince  and 


186  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


Princess  Carignan,  both  deep  gamblers  in  Mississippi  stock,  of 
fered  the  extensive  garden  of  their  Hotel  de  Soissons  as  a  rally- 
ing-place  for  the  worshippers  of  mammon.  The  offer  was  ac 
cepted.  A  number  of  barracks  were  immediately  erected  in  the 
garden,  as  offices  for  the  stock-brokers,  and  an  order  was  obtain 
ed  from  the  Regent,  under  pretext  of  police  regulations,  that  no 
bargain  should  be  valid,  unless  concluded  in  these  barracks. 
The  rent  of  them  immediately  mounted  to  a  hundred  livres  a 
month  for  each,  and  the  whole  yielded  these  noble  proprietors 
an  ignoble  revenue  of  half  a  million  of  livres. 

The  mania  for  gain,  however,  was  now  at  an  end.  A  univer 
sal  panic  succeeded.  "  Sauve  qui  pent !  "  was  the  watchword. 
Every  one  was  anxious  to  exchange  falling  paper  for  something 
of  intrinsic  and  permanent  value.  Since  money  was  not  to  be 
had,  jewels,  precious  stones,  plate,  porcelain,  trinkets  of  gold  and 
silver,  all  commanded  any  price,  in  paper.  Land  was  bought  at 
fifty  years'  purchase,  and  he  esteemed  himself  happy,  who  could 
get  it  even  at  this  price.  Monopolies  now  became  the  rage 
among  the  noble  holders  of  paper.  The  Duke  de  la  Force  bought 
up  nearly  all  the  tallow,  grease,  and  soap  ;  others  the  coffee  and 
spices ;  others  hay  and  oats.  Foreign  exchanges  were  almost  im 
practicable.  The  debts  of  Dutch  and  English  merchants  were  paid 
in  this  fictitious  money,  all  the  coin  of  the  realm  having  disap 
peared.  All  the  relations  of  debtor  and  creditor  were  confounded. 
With  one  thousand  crowns  one  might  pay  a  debt  of  eighteen 
thousand  livres. 

The  Regent's  mother,  who  once  exulted  in  the  affluence  of 
bank  paper,  now  wrote  in  a  very  different  tone  :  "  I  have  often 
wished,"  said  she,  in  her  letters,  "  that  these  bank-notes  were  in 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  187 

the  depths  of  the  infernal  regions.  They  have  given  my  son  more 
trouble  than  relief.  Nobody  in  France  has  a  penny.  *  *  *  My 
son  was  once  popular,  but  since  the  arrival  of  this  cursed  Law, 
he  is  hated  more  and  more.  Not  a  week  passes,  without  my  re 
ceiving  letters  filled  with  frightful  threats,  and  speaking  of  him 
as  a  tyrant.  I  have  just  received  one,  threatening  him  with  poi 
son.  When  I  showed  it  to  him,  he  did  nothing  but  laugh." 

In  the  mean  time,  Law  was  dismayed  by  the  increasing 
troubles,  and  terrified  at  the  tempest  he  had  raised.  He  was 
not  a  man  of  real  courage ;  and  fearing  for  his  personal  safety, 
from  popular  tumult,  or  the  despair  of  ruined  individuals,  he 
again  took  refuge  in  the  palace  of  the  Regent.  The  latter,  as 
usual,  amused  himself  with  his  terrors,  and  turned  every  new  dis 
aster  into  a  jest ;  but  he,  too,  began  to  think  of  his  own  security. 

In  pursuing  the  schemes  of  Law,  he  had  no  doubt  calculated 
to  carry  through  his  term  of  government  with  ease  and  splendor ; 
and  to  enrich  himself,  his  connections,  and  his  favorites ;  and  had 
hoped  that  the  catastrophe  of  the  system  would  not  take  place  un 
til  after  the  expiration  of  the  regency. 

He  now  saw  his  mistake ;  that  it  was  impossible  much  longer 
to  prevent  an  explosion ;  and  he  determined  at  once  to  get  Law 
out  of  the  way,  and  then  to  charge  him  with  the  whole  tissue  of 
delusions  of  this  paper  alchemy.  He  accordingly  took  occasion 
of  the  recall  of  parliament  in  December,  1720,  to  suggest  to  Law 
the  policy  of  his  avoiding  an  encounter  with  that  hostile  and  ex 
asperated  body.  Law  needed  no  urging  to  the  measure.  His 
only  desire  was  to  escape  from  Paris  and  its  tempestuous  popu 
lace.  Two  days  before  the  return  of  parliament,  he  took  his  sud 
den  and  secret  departure.  He  travelled  in  a  chaise  bearing  the 


188  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PKOSPEEITY. 


arms  of  the  Regent,  and  was  escorted  by  a  kind  of  safe-guard  of 
servants,  in  the  duke's  livery.  His  first  place  of  refuge  was  an 
estate  of  the  Regent's,  about  six  leagues  from  Paris,  from  whence 
he  pushed  forward  to  Bruxelles. 

As  soon  as  Law  was  fairly  out  of  the  way,  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
summoned  a  council  of  the  regency,  and  informed  them  that  they 
were  assembled  to  deliberate  on  the  state  of  the  finances,  and  the 
affairs  of  the  India  Company.  Accordingly  La  Houssaye,  Comp 
troller-General,  rendered  a  perfectly  clear  statement,  by  which  it 
appeared  that  there  were  bank-bills  in  circulation  to  the  amount 
of  two  milliards,  seven  hundred  millions  of  livres,  without  any 
evidence  that  this  enormous  sum  had  been  emitted  in  virtue  of 
any  ordinance  from  the  general  assembly  of  the  India  Company, 
which  alone  had  the  right  to  authorize  such  emissions. 

The  council  was  astonished  at  this  disclosure,  and  looked  to  the 
Regent  for  explanation.  Pushed  to  the  extreme,  the  Regent 
avowed  that  Law  had  emitted  bills  to  the  amount  of  twelve 
hundred  millions  beyond  what  had  been  fixed  by  ordinances,  and 
in  contradiction  to  express  prohibitions ;  that  the  thing  being  done, 
he,  the  Regent,  had  legalized  or  rather  covered  the  transaction, 
by  decrees  ordering  such  emissions,  which  decrees  he  had  ante' 
dated. 

A  stormy  scene  ensued  between  the  Regent  and  the  Duke  de 
Bourbon,  little  to  the  credit  of  either,  both  having  been  deeply 
implicated  in  the  cabalistic  operations  of  the  system.  In  fact, 
the  several  members  of  the  council  had  been  among  the  most  venal 
"  beneficiaries "  of  the  scheme,  and  had  interests  at  stake  which 
they  were  anxious  to  secure.  From  all  the  circumstances  of  the 
case,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  others  were  more  to  blame  than 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI  BUBBLE.  189 


Law,  for  the  disastrous  effects  of  his  financial  projects.  His 
bank,  had  it  been  confined  to  its  original  limits,  and  left  to  the 
control  of  its  own  internal  regulations,  might  have  gone  on  pros 
perously,  and  been  of  great  benefit  to  the  nation.  It  was  an  in 
stitution  fitted  for  a  free  country  ;  but  unfortunately,  it  was  sub 
ject  to  the  control  of  a  despotic  government,  that  could,  at  its 
pleasure,  alter  the  value  of  the  specie  within  its  vaults,  and  com 
pel  the  most  extravagant  expansions  of  its  paper  circulation. 
The  vital  principle  of  a  bank  is  security  in  the  regularity  of  its 
operations,  and  the  immediate  convertibility  of  its  paper  into 
coin ;  and  what  confidence  could  be  reposed  in  an  institution,  or 
its  paper  promises,  when  the  sovereign  could  at  any  moment 
centuple  those  promises  in  the  market,  and  seize  upon  all  the 
money  in  the  bank  ?  The  compulsory  measures  used,  likewise, 
to  force  bank-notes  into  currency,  against  the  judgment  of  the 
public,  was  fatal  to  the  system ;  for  credit  must  be  free  and  un 
controlled  as  the  common  air.  The  Regent  was  the  evil  spirit  of 
the  system,  that  forced  Law  on  to  an  expansion  of  his  paper  cur 
rency  far  beyond  what  he  had  ever  dreamed  of.  He  it  was  that 
in  a  manner  compelled  the  unlucky  projector  to  devise  all  kinds 
of  collateral  companies  and  monopolies,  by  which  to  raise  funds 
to  meet  the  constantly  and  enormously  increasing  emissions  of 
shares  and  notes.  Law  was  but  like  a  poor  conjuror  in  the  hands 
of  a  potent  spirit  that  he  has  evoked,  and  that  obliges  him  to  go 
on,  desperately  and  ruinously,  with  his  conjurations.  He  only 
thought  at  the  outset  to  raise  the  wind,  but  the  Regent  compel 
led  him  to  raise  the  whirlwind. 

The  investigation  of  the  affairs  of  the  company  by  the  council, 
resulted  in  nothing  beneficial  to  the  public.     The  princes  and  no 


190  A  TIME  OF  UNEXAMPLED  PROSPERITY. 


bles  who  had  enriched  themselves  by  all  kinds  of  juggles  and  ex 
tortions,  escaped  unpunished,  and  retained  the  greater  part  of 
their  spoils.  Many  of  the  "  suddenly  rich,"  who  had  risen  from 
obscurity  to  a  giddy  height  of  imaginary  prosperity,  and  had  in 
dulged  in  all  kinds  of  vulgar  and  ridiculous  excesses,  awoke  as 
out  of  a  dream,  in  their  original  poverty,  now  made  more  galling 
and  humiliating  by  their  transient  elevation. 

The  weight  of  the  evil,  however,  fell  on  more  valuable  classes 
of  society ;  honest  tradesmen  and  artisans,  who  had  been  seduced 
away  from  the  slow  accumulations  of  industry,  to  the  specious 
chances  of  speculation.  Thousands  of  meritorious  families,  also, 
once  opulent,  had  been  reduced  to  indigence,  by  a  too  great  confi 
dence  in  government.  There  was  a  general  derangement  in  the  fi 
nances,  that  long  exerted  a  baneful  influence  over  the  national  pros 
perity  ;  but  the  most  disastrous  effects  of  the  system  were  upon 
the  morals  and  manners  of  the  nation.  The  faith  of  engage 
ments,  the  sanctity  of  promises  in  affairs  of  business,  were  at  an 
end.  Every  expedient  to  grasp  present  profit,  or  to  evade  present 
difficulty,  was  tolerated.  While  such  deplorable  laxity  of  princi 
ple  was  generated  in  the  busy  classes,  the  chivalry  of  France  had 
soiled  their  pennons ;  and  honor  and  glory,  so  long  the  idols  of 
the  Gallic  nobility,  had  been  tumbled  to  the  earth,  and  trampled 
in  the  dirt  of  the  stock-market. 

As  to  Law,  the  originator  of  the  system,  he  appears  eventu 
ally  to  have  profited  but  little  by  his  schemes.  "He  was  a 
quack,"  says  Voltaire,  "  to  whom  the  state  was  given  to  be  cured, 
but  who  poisoned  it  with  his  drugs,  and  who  poisoned  himself." 
The  effects  which  he  left  behind  in  France,  were  sold  at  a  low 
price,  and  the  proceeds  dissipated.  His  landed  estates  were  con- 


THE  GREAT  MISSISSIPPI^  BUBBLE. 


191 


fiscated.  He  carried  away  with  him  bately  enough  to  maintain 
himself,  his  wife,  and  daughter,  with  decency.  The  chief  relic 
of  his  immense  fortune  was  a  great  diamond,  which  he  was  often 
obliged  to  pawn.  He  was  in  England  in  1721,  and  was  present 
ed  to  G-eorge  the  First.  He  returned,  shortly  afterward,  to  the 
continent ;  shifting  about  from  place  to  plaice,  and  died  in  Venice, 
in  1 729.  His  wife  and  daughter,  accustomed  to  live  with  the  pro 
digality  of  princesses,  could  not  conform  to  their  altered  fortunes, 
but  dissipated  the  scanty  means  left  to  them,  and  sank  into  ab 
ject  poverty.  "  I  saw  his  wife,"  says  Voltaire,  "  at  Bruxelles,  as 
much  humiliated  as  she  had  been  haughty,  and  triumphant  at 
Paris."  An  elder  brother  of  Law  remained  in  prance,  and  was  pro 
tected  by  the  Duchess  of  Bourbon.  His  descendants  acquitted 
themselves  honorably,  in  various  public  emp^fments ;  and  one  of 
them  was  the  Marquis  Lauriston,  sometime  I!iicuteiiailt  General 
and  Peer  of  France 


SKETCHES  IN  PARIS  IN  1825: 

FROM  THE  TRAVELLING  NOTE-BOOK  OP 
GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT 

THE  PARISIAN  HOTEL. 

A.  GREAT  hotel  in  Paris  is  a  street  set  on  end :  the  grand  stair 
case  is  the  highway,  and  every  floor  or  apartment  a  separate  hab 
itation.  The  one  in  which  I  am  lodged  may  serve  as  a  specimen. 
It  is  a  large  quadrangular  pile,  built  round  a  spacious  paved 
court.  The  ground  floor  is  occupied  by  shops,  magazines,  and  do 
mestic  offices.  Then  comes  the  entre-sol,  with  low  ceilings,  short 
windows,  and  dwarf  chambers ;  then  succeed  a  succession  of 
floors,  or  stories,  rising  one  above  the  other,  to  the  number  of 
Mahomet's  heavens.  Each  floor  is  a  mansion,  complete  within 
itself,  with  ante-chamber,  saloons,  dining  and  sleeping  rooms,  kitch 
en  and  other  conveniences.  Some  floors  are  divided  into  two 
or  more  suites  of  apartments.  Each  apartment  has  its  main  door 
of  entrance,  opening  upon  the  staircase,  or  landing-places,  and 
locked  like  a  street  door.  Thus  several  families  and  numerous 
single  persons  live  under  the  same  roof,  totally  independent  of 
each  other,  and  may  live  so  for  years,  without  holding  more  inter- 


THE  PARISIAN  HOTEL.  193 


course  than  is  kept  up  in  other  cities  by  residents  in  the  same 
street. 

Like  the  great  world,  this  little  microcosm  has  its  gradations 
of  rank  and  style  and  importance.  The  Premier,  or  first  floor 
with  its  grand  saloons,  lofty  ceilings,  and  splendid  furniture,  is 
decidedly  the  aristocratical  part  of  the  establishment.  The  se 
cond  floor  is  scarcely  less  aristocratical  and  magnificent ;  the  other 
floors  go  on  lessening  in  splendor  as  they  gain  in  altitude,  and 
end  with  the  attics,  the  region  of  petty  tailors,  clerks,  and  sewing 
girls.  To  make  the  filling  up  of  the  mansion  complete,  every  odd 
nook  and  corner  is  fitted  up  as  a  joli  petit  appartement  a  garcon, 
(a  pretty  little  bachelor's  apartment,)  that  is  to  say,  some  little 
dark  inconvenient  nestling-place  for  a  poor  devil  of  a  bachelor. 

The  whole  domain  is  shut  up  from  the  street  by  a  great  porte- 
cochere,  or  portal,  calculated  for  the  admission  of  carriages.  This 
consists  of  two  massy  folding  doors,  that  swing  heavily  open  upon 
a  spacious  entrance,  passing  under  the  front  of  the  edifice  into  the 
court-yard.  On  one  side  is  a  grand  staircase  leading  to  the 
upper  apartments.  Immediately  without  the  portal,  is  the  por 
ter's  lodge,  a  small  room  with  one  or  two  bedrooms  adjacent,  for 
the  accommodation  of  the  concierge,  or  porter,  and  his  family. 
This  is  one  of  the  most  important  functionaries  of  the  hotel.  He 
is,  in  fact,  the  Cerberus  of  the  establishment,  and  no  one  can  pass 
in  or  out  without  his  knowledge  and  consent.  The  porte-cochere 
in  general  ia  fastened  by  a  sliding  bolt,  from  which  a  cord  or  wire 
passes  into  the  porter's  lodge.  Whoever  wishes  to  go  out  must 
speak  to  the  porter,  who  draws  the  bolt.  A  visitor  from  without 
gives  a  single  rap  with  the  massive  knocker ;  the  bolt  is  immedi 
ately  drawn,  as  if  by  an  invisible  hand;  the  door  stands  ajar, 
9 


194  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


the  visitor  pushes  it  open,  and  enters.  A  face  presents  itself  at 
the  glass  door  of  the  porter's  little  chamber :  the  stranger  pro 
nounces  the  name  of  the  person  he  comes  to  seek.  If  the  person 
or  family  is  of  importance,  occupying  the  first  or  second  floor,  the 
porter  sounds  a  bell  once  or  twice,  to  give  notice  that  a  visitor  is 
at  hand.  The  stranger  in  the  mean  time  ascends  the  great  stair 
case,  the  highway  common  to  all,  and  arrives  at  the  outer  door, 
equivalent  to  a  street  door,  of  the  suite  of  rooms  inhabited  by 
his  friends.  Beside  this  hangs  a  bell-cord,  with  which  he  rings 
for  admittance. 

When  the  family  or  person  inquired  for  is  of  less  importance, 
or  lives  in  some  remote  part  of  the  mansion  less  easy  to  be  ap 
prised,  no  signal  is  given.  The  applicant  pronounces  the  name 
at  the  porter's  door,  and  is  told,  "  Montez  au  troisieme,  au  qua- 
tri&me;  sonnez  a  la  porte  a  droite,  ou  d  gauche;"  ("  Ascend 
to  the  third  or  fourth  story ;  ring  the  bell  on  the  right  or  left 
hand  door,")  as  the  case  may  be. 

The  porter  and  his  wife  act  as  domestics  to  such  of  the  in 
mates  of  the  mansion  as  do  not  keep  servants;  making  their  beds, 
arranging  their  rooms,  lighting  their  fires,  and  doing  other  menial 
offices,  for  which  they  receive  a  monthly  stipend.  They  are  also 
in  confidential  intercourse  with  the  servants  of  the  other  inmates, 
and,  having  an  eye  on  all  the  incomers  and  outgoers,  are  thus 
enabled,  by  hook  and  by  crook,  to  learn  the  secrets  and  the  do 
mestic  history  of  every  member  of  the  little  territory  within  the 
porte-cochere. 

The  porter's  lodge  is  accordingly  a  great  scene  of  gossip, 
where  all  the  private  affairs  of  this  interior  neighborhood  are  dis 
cussed.  The  court-yard,  also,  is  an  assembling  place  in  the  even 
ings  for  the  servants  of  the  different  families,  and  a  sisterhood  of 


MY  FRENCH  NEIGHBOR,  195 


eewing  girls  from  the  entre-sols  and  the  attics,  to  plaj  &fc  various 
games,  and  dance  to  the  music  of  their  own  songs,  and  the  echoes 
of  their  feet ;  at  which  assemblages  the  porter's  daughter  takes 
the  lead ;  a  fresh,  pretty,  buxom  girl,  generally  called  "  La  Pe 
tite"  though  almost  as  tall  as  a  grenadier.  These  little  evening 
gatherings,  so  characteristic  of  this  gay  country,  are  countenanced 
by  the  various  families  of  the  mansion,  who  often  look  down 
from  their  windows  and  balconies,  on  moonlight  evenings,  and 
enjoy  the  simple  revels  of  their  domestics.  I  must  observe,  how 
ever,  that  the  hotel  I  am  describing  is  rather  a  quiet,  retired  one, 
where  most  of  the  inmates  are  permanent  residents  from  year  to 
year,  so  that  there  is  more  of  the  spirit  of  neighborhood,  than  in 
the  bustling,  fashionable  hotels  in  the  gay  parts  of  Paris,  which 
are  continually  changing  their  inhabitants. 


f_     MY     FRENCH     NEIGHBOR. 

I  often  amuse  myself  by  watching  from  my  window  (which  by 
the  by  is  tolerably  elevated)  the  movements  of  the  teeming  little 
world  below  me ;  and  as  I  am  on  sociable  terms  with  the  porter 
and  his  wife,  I  gather  from  them,  as  they  light  my  fire,  or  serve 
my  breakfast,  anecdotes  of  all  my  fellow-lodgers.  I  have  been 
somewhat  curious  in  studying  a  little  antique  Frenchman,  who  oc 
cupies  one  of  the  jolie  chambres  a  gargon  already  mentioned.  He 
is  one  of  those  superannuated  veterans  who  flourished  before  the 
revolution,  and  have  weathered  all  the  storms  of  Paris,  in  conse 
quence,  very  probably,  of  being  fortunately  too  insignificant  to  at 
tract  attention.  He  has  a  small  income,  which  he  manages  with 
the  skill  of  a  French  economist :  appropriating  so  much  for  his 


196  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


lodgings,  so  much  for  his  meals,  so  much  for  his  visits  to  St. 
Cloud  and  Versailles,  and  so  much  for  his  seat  at  the  theatre.  He 
has  resided  at  the  hotel  for  years,  and  always  in  the  same  cham 
ber,  which  he  furnishes  at  his  own  expense.  The  decorations  of 
the  room  mark  his  various  ages.  There  are  some  gallant  pic 
tures,  which  he  hung  up  in  his  younger  days,  with  a  portrait  of  a 
lady  of  rank,  whom  he  speaks  tenderly  of,  dressed  in  the  old 
French  taste,  and  a  pretty  opera  dancer,  pirouetting  in  a  hoop 
petticoat,  who  lately  died  at  a  good  old  age.  In  a  corner  of  this 
picture  is  stuck  a  prescription  for  rheumatism,  and  below  it  stands 
an  easy-chair.  He  has  a  small  parrot  at  the  window,  to  amuse 
him  when  within  doors,  and  a  pug-dog  to  accompany  him  in  his 
daily  peregrinations.  While  I  am  writing,  he  is  crossing  the 
court  to  go  out.  He  is  attired  in  his  best  coat,  of  sky-blue,  and 
is  doubtless  bound  for  the  Tuileries.  His  hair  is  dressed  in  the 
old  style,  with  powdered  ear-locks  and  a  pigtail.  His  little  dog 
trips  after  him,  sometimes  on  four  legs,  sometimes  on  three,  and 
looking  as  if  his  leather  small-clothes  were  too  tight  for  him. 
Now  the  old  gentleman  stops  to  have  a  word  with  an  old  crony 
who  lives  in  the  entre-sol,  and  is  just  returning  from  his  prome 
nade.  Now  they  take  a  pinch  of  snuff  together ;  now  they  pull 
out  huge  red  cotton  handkerchiefs,  (those  "  flags  of  abomination,'7 
as  they  have  well  been  called,)  and  blow  their  noses  most  sonor 
ously.  Now  they  turn  to  make  remarks  upon  their  two  little 
dogs,  who  are  exchanging  the  morning's  salutation ;  now  they 
part,  and  my  old  gentleman  stops  to  have  a  passing  word  with 
the  porter's  wife :  and  now  he  sallies  forth,  and  is  fairly  launched 
upon  the  town  for  the  day. 

No  man  is  so  methodical  as  a  complete  idler,  and  none  so 
scrupulous  in  measuring  and  portioning  out  his  time  as  he  whose 


MY  FRENCH  NEIGHBOR.  197 


time  is  worth  nothing.  The  old  gentleman  in  question  has  his 
exact  hour  for  rising,  and  for  shaving  himself  by  a  small  mirror 
hung  against  his  casement.  He  sallies  forth  at  a  certain  hour 
every  morning,  to  take  his  cup  of  coffee  and  his  roll  at  a  certain 
cafe,  where  he  reads  the  papers.  He  has  been  a  regular  admir 
er  of  the  lady  who  presides  at  the  bar,  and  always  stops  to  have  a 
little  badinage  with  her,  en  passant.  He  has  his  regular  walks 
on  the  Boulevards  and  in  the  Palais  Royal,  where  he  sets  his 
watch  by  the  petard  fired  off  by  the  sun  at  mid-day.  He  has  his 
daily  resort  in  the  Garden  of  the  Tuileries,  to  meet  with  a  knot 
of  veteran  idlers  like  himself,  who  talk  on  pretty  much  the  same 
subjects  whenever  they  meet.  He  has  been  present  at  all  the 
sights  and  shows  and  rejoicings  of  Paris  for  the  last  fifty  years ; 
has  witnessed  the  great  events  of  the  revolution ;  the  guillotining 
of  the  king  and  queen ;  the  coronation  of  Bonaparte ;  the  capture 
of  Paris,  and  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  All  these  he  speaks 
of  with  the  coolness  of  a  theatrical  critic ;  and  I  question  wheth 
er  he  has  not  been  gratified  by  each  in  its  turn ;  not  from  any  in 
herent  love  of  tumult,  but  from  that  insatiable  appetite  for  spec 
tacle,  which  prevails  among  the  inhabitants  of  this  metropolis.  I 
have  been  amused  with  a  farce,  in  which  one  of  these  systematic 
old  triflers  is  represented.  He  sings  a  song  detailing  his  whole 
day's  round  of  insignificant  occupations,  and  goes  to  bed  de 
lighted  with  the  idea  that  his  next  day  will  be  an  exact  repetition 
of  the  same  routine  : 

"  Je  me  couclie  le  soir, 
Enchante  de  pcmvoir 
Recommencer  mon  train 
Le  lendemain 
Matin." 


198  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


THE     ENGLISHMAN     AT     PARIS. 

In  another  part  of  the  hotel,  a  handsome  suite  of  rooms  is  occi> 
pied  by  an  old  English  gentleman,  of  great  probity,  some  under 
standing,  and  very  considerable  crustiness,  who  has  come  to 
France  to  live  economically.  He  has  a  very  fair  property,  but 
his  wife,  being  of  that  blessed  kind  compared  in  Scripture  to  the 
fruitful  vine,  has  overwhelmed  him  with  a  family  of  buxom 
daughters,  who  hang  clustering  about  him,  ready  to  be  gathered 
by  any  hand.  He  is  seldom  to  be  seen  in  public,  without  one 
hanging  on  each  arm,  and  smiling  on  all  the  world,  while  his  own 
mouth  is  drawn  down  at  each  corner  like  a  mastiff's,  with  internal 
growling  at  every  thing  about  him.  He  adheres  rigidly  to  Eng 
lish  fashion  in  dress,  and  trudges  about  in  long  gaiters  and  broad- 
brimmed  hat ;  while  his  daughters  almost  overshadow  him  with 
feathers,  flowers,  and  French  bonnets. 

He  contrives  to  keep  up  an  atmosphere  of  English  habits, 
opinions,  and  prejudices,  and  to  carry  a  semblance  of  London  into 
the  very  heart  of  Paris.  *  His  mornings  are  spent  at  Galignani's 
newsroom,  where  he  forms  one  of  a  knot  of  inveterate  quid-mines, 
who  read  the  same  articles  over  a  dozen  times  in  a  dozen  different 
papers.  He  generally  dines  in  company  with  some  of  his  own  coun 
trymen,  and  they  have  what  is  called  a  "  comfortable  sitting,  "  after 
dinner,  in  the  English  fashion,  drinking  wine,  discussing  the  news 
of  the  London  papers,  and  canvassing  the  French  character,  the 
French  metropolis,  and  the  French  revolution,  ending  with  a  unan 
imous  admission  of  English  courage,  English  morality,  English 


THE  ENGLISHMAN  AT  PARIS.  199 


cookery,  English  wealth,  the  magnitude  of  London,  and  the 
ingratitude  of  the  French. 

His  evenings  are  chiefly  spent  at  a  club  of  his  countrymen, 
where  the  London  papers  are  taken.  Sometimes  his  daughters 
entice  him  to  the  theatres,  but  not  often.  He  abuses  French 
tragedy,  as  all  fustian  and  bombast,  Talma  as  a  ranter,  and  Du- 
chesnois  as  a  mere  termagant.  It  is  true  his  ear  is  not  sufficient 
ly  familiar  with  the  language  to  understand  French  verse,  and  he 
generally  goes  to  sleep  during  the  performance.  The  wit  of  the 
French  comedy  is  flat  and  pointless  to  him.  He  would  not  give 
one  of  Munden's  wry  faces,  or  Liston's  inexpressible  looks,  for 
the  whole  of  it. 

He  will  not  admit  that  Paris  has  any  advantage  over  London. 
The  Seine  is  a  muddy  rivulet  in  comparison  with  the  Thames; 
the  West  End  of  London  surpasses  the  finest  parts  of  the  French 
capital ;  and  on  some  one's  observing  that  there  was  a  very  thick 
fog  out  of  doors :  "  Pish ! "  said  he,  crustily,  "  it's  nothing  to  the 
fogs  we  have  in  London ! " 

He  has  infinite  trouble  in  bringing  his  table  into  any  thing 
like  conformity  to  English  rule.  With  his  liquors,  it  is  true,  he 
is  tolerably  successful.  He  procures  London  porter,  and  a  stock 
of  port  and  sherry,  at  considerable  expense ;  for  he  observes  that 
he  cannot  stand  those  cursed  thin  French  wines :  they  dilute  his 
blood  so  much  as  to  give  him  the  rheumatism.  As  to  their  white 
wines,  he  stigmatizes  them  as  mere  substitutes  for  cider ;  and  as 
to  claret,  why  "  it  would  be  port  if  it  could."  He  has  continual 
quarrels  with  his  French  cook,  whom  he  renders  wretched  by  in 
sisting  on  his  conforming  to  Mrs.  Glass ;  for  it  is  easier  to  con 
vert  a  Frenchman  from  his  religion  than  his  cookery.  The  poor 


200  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


fellow,  by  dint  of  repeated  efforts,  once  brought  himself  to 
serve  up  ros  bif  sufficiently  raw  to  suit  what  he  considered  the 
cannibal  taste  of  his  master ;  but  then  he  could  not  refrain,  at  the 
last  moment,  adding  some  exquisite  sauce,  that  put  the  old 
gentleman  in  a  fury. 

He  detests  wood-fires,  and  has  procured  a  quantity  of  coal ; 
but  not  having  a  grate,  he  is  obliged  to  burn  it  on  the  hearth. 
Here  he  sits  poking  and  stirring  the  fire  with  one  end  of  a  tongs, 
while  the  room  is  as  murky  as  a  smithy ;  railing  at  French  chim 
neys,  French  masons,  and  French  architects;  giving  a  poke,  at 
the  end  of  every  sentence,  as  though  he  were  stirring  up  the  very 
bowels  of  the  delinquents  he  is  anathematizing.  He  lives  in  a 
state  militant  with  inanimate  objects  around  him ;  gets  into  high 
dudgeon  with  doors  and  casements,  because  they  will  not  come 
under  English  law,  and  has  implacable  feuds  with  sundry  refrac 
tory  pieces  of  furniture.  Among  these  is  one  in  particular  with 
which  he  is  sure  to  have  a  high  quarrel  every  time  he  goes  to 
dress.  It  is  a  commode,  one  of  those  smooth,  polished,  plausible 
pieces  of  French  furniture,  that  have  the  perversity  of  five  hun 
dred  devils.  Each  drawer  has  a  will  of  its  own ;  will  open  or  not, 
just  as  the  whim  takes  it,  and  sets  lock  and  key  at  defiance. 
Sometimes  a  drawer  will  refuse  to  yield  to  either  persuasion  or 
force,  and  will  part  with  both  handles  rather  than  yield ;  another 
will  come  out  in  the  most  coy  and  coquettish  manner  imaginable ; 
elbowing  along,  zigzag;  one  corner  retreating  as  the  other  ad 
vances,  making  a  thousand  difficulties  and  objections  at  every 
move ;  until  the  old  gentleman,  out  of  all  patience,  gives  a  sudden 
jerk,  and  brings  drawer  and  contents  into  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
His  hostilitv  to  this  unlucky  piece  of  furniture  increases  every 


ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH  CHARACTER.  201 


day,  as  if  incensed  that  it  does  not  grow  better.  He  is  like  the 
fretful  invalid,  who  cursed  his  bed,  that  the  longer  he  lay,  the 
harder  it  grew.  The  only  benefit  he  has  derived  from  the  quarrel 
is,  that  it  has  furnished  him  with  a  crusty  joke,  which  he  utters 
on  all  occasions.  He  swears  that  a  French  commode  is  the  most 
incommodious  thing  in  existence,  and  that  although  the  nation 
cannot  make  a  joint-stool  that  will  stand  steady,  yet  they  are 
always  talking  of  every  thing's  being  perfectionee. 

His  servants  understand  his  humor,  and  avail  themselves  of 
it.  He  was  one  -day  disturbed  by  a  pertinacious  rattling  and 
ghaking  at  one  of  the  doors,  and  bawled  out  in  an  angry  tone  to 
Imow  the  cause  pf  the  disturbance.  "  Sir,"  said  the  footman, 
testily,  -"  #s  this  confounded  l>enph  look  \ "  "  Ah  ! "  said  the  old 
gentleman,  pacified  by  this  hit  at  the  nation,  (l  I  thought  there 
was  something  French  at  the  bottom  of  it  J  '7 


ENGLISH     AND     FRENCH     CHARACTER. 

As  I  am  a  mere  looker-on  in  Europe,  and  hold  myself  as  much 
as  possible  aloof  from  its  quarrels  and  prejudices,  I  feel  something 
like  one  overlooking  a  game,  who,  without  any  great  skill  of  his 
own,  can  occasionally  perceive  the  blunders  of  much  abler  players. 
This  neutrality  of  feeling  enables  me  to  enjoy  the  contrasts  of 
character  presented  in  this  time  of  general  peace ;  when  the  various 
people  of  Europe,  who  have  so  long  been  sundered  by  wars,  are 
brought  together,  and  placed  side  by  side  in  this  great  gathering 
place  of  nations.  No  greater  contrast,  however,  is  exhibited,  than 
that  of  the  French  and  English.  The  peace  has  deluged  this  gay 
capital  with  English  visitors,  of  all  ranks  and  conditions.  They 
9* 


202  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


throng  every  place  of  curiosity  and  amusement ;  fill  the  public 
gardens,  the  galleries,  the  cafes,  saloons,  theatres  ;  always  herdrng 
together,  never  associating  with  the  French.  The  two  nations 
are  like  two  threads  of  different  colors,  tangled  together,  but 
never  blended. 

In  fact,  they  present  a  continual  antithesis,  and  seem  to  value 
themselves  upon  being  unlike  each  other ;  yet  each  have  their 
peculiar  merits,  which  should  entitle  them  to  each  other's  esteem. 
The  French  intellect  is  quick  and  active,  It  flashes  its  way  into 
a  subject  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning;  seizes  upon  remote  con 
clusions  with  a  sudden  bound,  and  its  deductions  are  almost  intui 
tive.  The  English  intellect  is  less  rapid,  but  more  persevering ; 
less  sudden,  but  more  sure  in  its  deductions.  The  quickness  and 
mobility  of  the  French  enable  them  to  find  enjoyment  in  the  mul 
tiplicity  of  sensations.  They  speak  and  act  more  from  immediate 
impressions  than  from  reflection  and  meditation.  They  are  there 
fore  more  social  and  communicative ;  more  fond  of  society,  and  of 
places  of  public  resort  and  amusement.  An  Englishman  is  more 
reflective  in  his  habits.  He  lives  in  the  world  of  his  own  thoughts, 
and  seems  more  self-existent  and  self-dependent.  He  loves  the 
quiet  of  his  own  apartment ;  even  when  abroad,  he  in  a  manner 
makes  a  little  solitude  around  him,  by  his  silence  and  reserve : 
he  moves  about  shy  and  solitary,  and  as  it  were,  buttoned  up, 
body  and  soul. 

The  French  are  great  optimists  :  they  seize  upon  every  good 
as  it  flies,  and  revel  in  the  passing  pleasure.  The  Englishman  is 
too  apt  to  neglect  the  present  good,  in  preparing  against  the  pos 
sible  evil.  However  adversities  may  lower,  let  the  sun  shine  but 
for  a  moment,  and  forth  sallies  the  mercurial  Frenchman,  in  holi- 


ENGLISH  AND  FRENCH  CHARACTER.  203 


day  dress  and  holiday  spirits,  gay  as  a  butterfly,  as  though  his 
sunshine  were  perpetual ;  but  let  the  sun  beam  never  so  brightly, 
so  there  be  but  a  cloud  in  the  horizon,  the  wary  Englishman  ven 
tures  forth  distrustfully,  with  his  umbrella  in  his  hand. 

The  Frenchman  has  a  wonderful  facility  at  turning  small 
things  to  advantage.  No  one  can  be  gay  and  luxurious  on  small 
er  means ;  no  one  requires  less  expense  to  be  happy.  He  prac 
tises  a  kind  of  gilding  in  his  style  of  living,  and  hammers  out 
every  guinea  into  gold  leaf.  The  Englishman,  on  the  contrary, 
is  expensive  in  his  habits,  and  expensive  in  his  enjoyments.  He 
values  every  thing,  whether  useful  or  ornamental,  by  what  it 
costs.  He  has  no  satisfaction  in  show,  unless  it  be  solid  and  com 
plete.  Every  thing  goes  with  him  by  the  square  foot.  Whatever 
display  he  makes,  the  depth  is  sure  to  equal  the  surface. 

The  Frenchman's  habitation,  like  himself,  is  open,  cheerful, 
bustling,  and  noisy.  He  lives  in  a  part  of  a  great  hotel,  with  wide 
portal,  paved  court,  a  spacious  dirty  stone  staircase,  and  a  family 
on  every  floor.  All  is  clatter  and  chatter.  He  is  good-humored 
and  talkative  with  his  servants,  sociable  with  his  neighbors,  and 
complaisant  to  all  the  world.  Any  body  has  access  to  himself 
and  his  apartments ;  his  very  bedroom  is  open  to  visitors,  what 
ever  may  be  its  state  of  confusion ;  and  all  this  not  from  any  pe 
culiarly  hospitable  feeling,  but  from  that  communicative  habit 
which  predominates  over  his  character. 

The  Englishman,  on  the  contrary,  ensconces  himself  in  a  snug 
brick  mansion,  which  he  has  all  to  himself ;  locks  the  front  door ; 
puts  broken  bottles  along  his  walls,  and  spring-guns  and  man-traps 
in  his  gardens ;  shrouds  himself  with  trees  and  window-curtains ; 
exults  in  his  quiet  and  privacy,  and  seems  disposed  to  keep  out 


204  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS, 


noise,  daylight,  and  company.  His  house,  like  himself,  has  a 
reserved,  inhospitable  exterior;  yet  whoever  gains  admittance,  is 
apt  to  find  a  warm  heart  and  warm  fireside  within. 

The  French  excel  in  wit ;  the  English  in  humor  :  the  French 
have  gayer  fancy,  the  English  richer  imaginations.  The  former 
are  full  of  sensibility ;  easily  moved,  and  prone  to  sudden  and 
great  excitement ;  but  their  excitement  is  not  durable :  the  Eng 
lish  are  more  phlegmatic ;  not  so  readily  affected  ;  but  capable  of 
being  aroused  to  great  enthusiasm.  The  faults  of  these  opposite 
temperaments  are,  that  the  vivacity  of  the  French  is  apt  to  sparkle 
up  and  be  frothy,  the  gravity  of  the  English  to  settle  down  and 
grow  muddy.  When  the  two  characters  can  be  fixed  in  a  medium, 
the  French  kept  from  eifervescence  and  the  English  from  stagna 
tion,  both  will  be  found  excellent. 

This  contrast  of  character  may  also  be  noticed  in  the  great 
concerns  of  the  two  nations.  The  ardent  Frenchman  is  all  for 
military  renown :  he  fights  for  glory,  that  is  to  say,  for  success 
in  arms.  For,  provided  the  national  flag  be  victorious,  he  cares 
little  about  the  expense,  the  injustice,  or  the  inutility  of  the  war. 
It  is  wonderful  how  the  poorest  Frenchman  will  revel  on  a  triumph 
ant  bulletin ;  a  great  victory  is  meat  and  drink  to  him ;  and  at 
the  sight  of  a  military  sovereign,  bringing  home  captured  cannon 
and  captured  standards,  he  throws  up  his  greasy  cap  in  the  air, 
and  is  ready  to  jump  out  of  his  wooden  shoes  for  joy. 

John  Bull,  on  the  contrary,  is  a  reasoning,  considerate  person. 
If  he  does  wrong,  it  is  in  the  most  rational  way  imaginable.  He 
fights  because  the  good  of  the  world  requires  it.  He  is  a  moral 
person,  and  makes  war  upon  his  neighbor  fpr  the  maintenance 
of  peace  and  good  order,  and  sound  principles.  He  is  a  money- 


THE  TCJILERIES  AND  WINDSOR  CASTLE.  205 


making  personage,  and  fights  for  the  prosperity  of  commerce  and 
manufactures.  Thus  the  two  nations  have  been  fighting,  time 
out  of  mind,  for  glory  and  good.  The  French,  in  pursuit  of  glo 
ry,  have  had  their  capital  twice  taken ;  and  John,  in  pursuit  of 
good,  has  run  himself  over  head  and  ears  in  debt. 


THE  TUILERIES  AND  WINDSOR  CASTLE. 

I  have  sometimes  fancied  I  could  discover  national  character 
istics  in  national  edifices.  In  the  Chateau  of  the  Tuileries,  for 
instance,  I  perceive  the  same  jumble  of  contrarieties  that  marks 
the  French  character ;  the  same  whimsical  mixture  of  the  great 
and  the  little ;  the  splendid  and  the  paltry,  the  sublime  and  the 
grotesque.  On  visiting  this  famous  pile,  the  first  thing  that 
strikes  both  eye  and  ear,  is  military  display.  The  courts  glitter 
with  steel-clad  soldiery,  and  resound  with  tramp  of  horse,  the  roll 
of  drum,  and  the  bray  of  trumpet.  Dismounted  guardsmen  pa 
trol  its  arcades,  with  loaded  carbines,  jingling  spurs,  and  clank 
ing  sabres.  Gigantic  grenadiers  are  posted  about  its  staircases ; 
young  officers  of  the  guards  loll  from  the  balconies,  or  lounge  in 
groups  upon  the  terraces  :  and  the  gleam  of  bayonet  from  window 
to  window,  shows  that  sentinels  are  pacing  up  and  down  the  cor 
ridors  and  ante-chambers.  The  first  floor  is  brilliant  with  the 
splendors  of  a  court.  French  taste  has  tasked  itself  in  adorning 
the  sumptuous  suites  of  apartments ;  nor  are  the  gilded  chapel  and 
splendid  theatre  forgotten,  where  Piety  and  Pleasure  are  next-door 
neighbors,  and  harmonize  together  with  perfect  French  bienseance. 


206  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


Mingled  up  with  all  this  regal  and  military  magnificence,  is  a 
world  of  whimsical  and  make-shift  detail.  A  great  part  of  the 
huge  edifice  is  cut  up  into  little  chambers  and  nestling-places  for 
retainers  of  the  court,  dependants  on  retainers,  and  hangers-on  of 
dependants.  Some  are  squeezed  into  narrow  entre-sols,  those 
low,  dark,  intermediate  slices  of  apartments  between  floors,  the  in 
habitants  of  which  seem  shoved  in  edgeways,  like  books  between 
narrow  shelves ;  others  are  perched,  like  swallows,  under  the 
eaves ;  the  high  roofs,  too,  which  are  as  tall  and  steep  as  a 
French  cocked  hat,  have  rows  of  little  dormer  windows,  tier 
above  tier,  just  large  enough  to  admit  light  and  air  for  some  dor 
mitory,  and  to  enable  its  occupant  to  peep  out  at  the  sky.  Even 
to  the  very  ridge  of  the  roof,  may  be  seen,  here  and  there,  one  of 
these  air-holes,  with  a  stove-pipe  beside  it,  to  carry  off  the  smoke 
from  the  handful  of  fuel  with  which  its  weasen-faced  tenant  sim 
mers  his  demi-tasse  of  coffee. 

On  approaching  the  palace  from  the  Pont  Royal,  you  take  in 
at  a  glance  all  the  various  strata  of  inhabitants  ;  the  garreteer 
in  the  roof ;  the  retainer  in  the  entre-sol ;  the  courtiers  at  the 
casements  of  the  royal  apartments ;  while  on  the  ground-floor  a 
steam  of  savory  odors,  and  a  score  or  two  of  cooks,  in  white  caps, 
bobbing  their  heads  about  the  windows,  betray  that  scientific  and 
all-important  laboratory,  the  royal  kitchen. 

Go  into  the  grand  ante-chamber  of  the  royal  apartments  on 
Sunday,  and  see  the  mixture  of  Old  and  New  France  :  the  old  emi 
gres,  returned  with  the  Bourbons ;  little  withered,  spindle- 
shanked  old  noblemen,  clad  in  court  dresses,  that  figured  in  these 
saloons  before  the  revolution,  and  have  been  carefully  treasured 
up  during  their  exile ;  with  the  solitaires  and  ailes  de  pigeon  of 


THE  T  UILERIES  AND  WINDSOR  CASTLE.  207 


former  days  :  and  the  court  swords  strutting  out  behind,  like 
pins  stuck  through  dry  beetles.  See  them  haunting  the  scenes 
of  their  former  splendor,  in  hopes  of  a  restitution  of  estates,  like 
ghosts  haunting  the  vicinity  of  buried  treasure :  while  around 
them  you  see  Young  France,  grown  up  in  the  fighting  school  of 
Napoleon ;  equipped  en  militaire :  tall,  hardy,  frank,  vigorous, 
sunburnt,  fierce-whiskered ;  with  tramping  boots,  towering  crests, 
and  glittering  breastplates. 

It  is  incredible  the  number  of  ancient  and  hereditary  feeders 
on  royalty  said  to  be  housed  in  this  establishment.  Indeed  all 
the  royal  palaces  abound  with  noble  families  returned  from  exile, 
and  who  have  nestling-places  allotted  them  while  they  await  the 
restoration  of  their  estates,  or  the  much-talked-of  law,  indemnity. 
Some  of  them  have  fine  quarters,  but  poor  living.  Some  families 
have  but  five  or  six  hundred  francs  a  year,  and  all  their  retinue 
consists  of  a  servant  woman.  With  all  this,  they  maintain  their 
old  aristocratical  hauteur,  look  down  with  vast  contempt  upon  the 
opulent  families  which  have  risen  since  the  revolution  ;  stigmatize 
them  all  as  parvenus,  or  upstarts,  and  refuse  to  visit  them. 

In  regarding  the  exterior  of  the  Tuileries,  with  all  its  out 
ward  signs  of  internal  populousness,  I  have  often  thought  what  a 
rare  sight  it  would  be  to  see  it  suddenly  unroofed,  and  all  its 
nooks  and  corners  laid  open  to  the  day.  It  would  be  like  turn 
ing  up  the  stump  of  an  old  tree,  and  dislodging  the  world  of 
grubs,  and  ants,  and  beetles  lodged  beneath.  Indeed  there  is  a 
scandalous  anecdote  current,  that  in  the  time  of  one  of  the  petty 
plots,  when  petards  were  exploded  under  the  windows  of  the  Tuil 
eries,  the  police  made  a  sudden  investigation  of  the  palace  at 
four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  a-  scene  of  the  most  whimsical 


208  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


confusion  ensued.  Hosts  of  supernumerary  inhabitants  were 
found  foisted  into  the  huge  edifice  :  every  rat-hole  had  its  occu 
pant  ;  and  places  which  had  been  considered  as  tenanted  only  by 
spiders,  were  found  crowded  with  a  surreptitious  population.  It 
is  added,  that  many  ludicrous  accidents  occurred ;  great  scam 
pering  and  slamming  of  doors,  and  whisking  away  in  night-gowns 
and  slippers ;  and  several  persons,  who  were  found  by  accident 
in  their  neighbors'  chambers,  evinceci  indubitable  astonishment  at 
the  circumstance. 

As  I  have  fancied  I  could  read  the  French  character  in  the 
national  palace  of  the  Tuileries,  so  I  have  pictured  to  myself 
some  of  the  traits  of  John  Bull  in  his  royal  abode  of  Windsor 
Castle.  The  Tuileries,  outwardly  a  peaceful  palace,  is  in 
effect  a  swaggering  military  hold ;  while  the  old  castle,  on  the 
contrary,  in  spite  of  its  bullying  look,  is  completely  under  petti 
coat  government.  Every  corner  and  nook  is  built  up  into  some 
snug,  cosy  nestling-place,  some  "  procreant  cradle,"  not  tenanted 
by  meagre  expectants  or  whiskered  warriors,  but  by  sleek  place 
men  ;  knowing  realizers  of  present  pay  and  present  pudding  ;  who 
seem  placed  there  not  to  kill  and  destroy,  but  to  breed  and  multi 
ply.  Nursery  maids  and  children  shine  with  rosy  faces  at  the  win 
dows,  and  swarm  about  the  courts  and  terraces.  The  very  soldiery 
have  a  pacific  look,  and  when  off  duty,  may  be  seen  loitering  about 
the  place  with  the  nursery-maids ;  not  making  love  to  them  in 
the  gay  gallant  style  of  the  French  soldiery,  but  with  infinite  bon- 
hommie  aiding  them  to  take  care  of  the  broods  of  children. 

Though  the  old  castle  is  in  decay,  every  thing  about  it 
thrives  ;  the  very  crevices  of  the  walls  are  tenanted  by  swallows, 
rooks,  and  pigeons,  all  sure  of  quiet  lodgment :  the  ivy  strikes 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO.  209 


its  roots  deep  in  the  fissures,  and  flourishes  about  the  moulder 
ing  tower.*  Thus  it  is  with  honest  John  :  according  to  his  own 
account,  he  is  ever  going  to  ruin,  yet  every  thing  that  lives  on 
him,  thrives  and  waxes  fat.  He  would  fain  be  a  soldier,  and 
swagger  like  his  neighbors  ;  but  his  domestic,  quiet-loving,  uxo 
rious  nature  continually  gets  the  upper  hand  ;  and  though  he 
may  mount  his  helmet  and  gird  on  his  sword,  yet  he  is  apt  to 
sink  into  the  plodding,  painstaking  father  of  a  family ;  with  a 
troop  of  children  at  his  heels,  and  his  woinenkind  hanging  on 
each  arm. 


THE     FIELD     OF     WATEKLOO. 

I  have  spoken  heretofore  with  some  levity  of  the  contrast 
that  exists  between  the  English  and  French  character ;  but  it 
deserves  more  serious  consideration.  They  are  the  two  great 
nations  of  modern  times  most  diametrically  opposed,  and  most 
worthy  of  each  other's  rivalry  ;  essentially  distinct  in  their  char 
acters,  excelling  in  opposite  qualities,  and  reflecting  lustre  on 
each  other  by  their  very  opposition.  In  nothing  is  this  contrast 
more  strikingly  evinced  than  in  their  military  conduct.  For 
ages  have  they  been  contending,  and  for  ages  have  they  crowded 
each  other's  history  with  acts  of  splendid  heroism.  Take  the 
Battle  of  Waterloo,  for  instance,  the  last  and  most  memorable 
trial  of  their  rival  prowess.  Nothiog  could  surpass  the  brilliant 
daring  on  the  one  side,  and  the  steadfast  enduring  on  the  other. 

*  The  above  sketch  was  written  before  the  thorough  repairs  and  mag- 
iiificent  additions  made  of  late  years  to  Windsor  Castle. 


210  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


The  French  cavalry  broke  like  waves  on  the  compact  squares  of 
English  infantry.  They  were  seen  galloping  round  those  serried 
walls  of  men,  seeking  in  vain  for  an  entrance  ;  tossing  their  arms 
in  the  air,  in  the  heat  of  their  enthusiasm,  and  braving  the  whole 
front  of  battle.  The  British  troops,  on  the  other  hand,  forbid 
den  to  move  or  fire,  stood  firm  and  enduring.  Their  columns 
were  ripped  up  by  cannonry ;  whole  rows  were  swept  down  at  a 
shot :  the  survivors  closed  their  ranks,  and  stood  firm.  In  this 
way  many  columns  stood  through  the  pelting  of  the  iron  tempest 
without  firing  a  shot ;  without  any  action  to  stir  their  blood,  or 
excite  their  spirits.  Death  thinned  their  ranks,  but  could  not 
shake  their  souls. 

A  beautiful  instance  of  the  quick  and  generous  impulses  to 
which  the  French  are  prone,  is  given  in  the  case  of  a  French 
cavalier,  in  the  hottest  of  the  action,  charging  furiously  upon  a 
British  officer,  but  perceiving  in  the  moment  of  assault  that  his 
adversary  had  lost  his  sword-arm,  dropping  the  point  of  his  sa 
bre,  and  courteously  riding  on.  Peace  be  with  that  generous 
warrior,  whatever  were  his  fate  !  If  he  went  down  in  the  storm 
of  battle,  with  the  foundering  fortunes  of  his  chieftain,  may  the 
turf  of  Waterloo  grow  green  above  his  grave  ! — and  happier  far 
would  be  the  fate  of  such  a  spirit,  to  sink  amidst  the  tempest, 
unconscious  of  defeat,  than  to  survive,  and  mourn  over  the 
blighted  laurels  of  his  country. 

In  this  way  the  two  armies  fought  through  a  long  and  bloody 
day.  The  French  with  enthusiastic  valor,  the  English  with  cool, 
inflexible  courage,  until  Fate,  as  if  to  leave  the  question  of  supe 
riority  still  undecided  between  two  such  adversaries,  brought  up 
the  Prussians  to  decide  the  fortunes  of  the  field. 


THE  FIELD  OF  WATERLOO.  211 


It  was  several  years  afterward,  that  I  visited  the  field  of 
Waterloo.  The  ploughshare  had  been  busy  with  its  oblivious 
labors,  and  the  frequent  harvest  had  nearly  obliterated  the  ves 
tiges  of  war.  Still  the  blackened  ruins  of  Hoguemont  stood,  a 
monumental  pile,  to  mark  the  violence  of  this  vehement  strug 
gle.  Its  broken  walls,  pierced  by  bullets,  and  shattered  by  ex 
plosions,  showed  the  deadly  strife  that  had  taken  place  within  ; 
when  Gaul  and  Briton,  hemmed  in  between  narrow  walls,  hand 
to  hand  and  foot  to  foot,  fought  from  garden  to  court-yard,  from 
court-yard  to  chamber,  with  intense  and  concentrated  rivalship. 
Columns  of  smoke  towered  from  this  vortex  of  battle  as  from  a 
volcano  :  "it  was,"  said  my  guide,  "like  a  little  hell  upon  earth." 
Not  far  off,  two  or  three  broad  spots  of  rank,  unwholesome  green 
still  marked  the  places  where  these  rival  warriors,  after  their 
fierce  and  fitful  struggle,  slept  quietly  together  in  the  lap  of  their 
common  mother  earth.  Over  all  the  rest  of  the  field,  peace  had 
resumed  its  sway.  The  thoughtless  whistle  of  the  peasant 
floated  on  the  air,  instead  of  the  trumpet's  clangor ;  the  team 
slowly  labored  up  the  hill-side,  once  shaken  by  the  hoofs  of  rush 
ing  squadrons ;  and  wide  fields  of  corn  waved  peacefully  over  the 
soldiers'  grave,  as  summer  seas  dimple  over  the  place  where 
the  tall  ship  lies  buried. 


To  the  foregoing  desultory  notes  on  the  French  military 
character,  let  me  append  a  few  traits  which  I  picked  up  verbally 
in  one  of  the  French  provinces.  They  may  have  already  ap 
peared  in  print,  but  I  have  never  met  with  them. 


212  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


At  the  breaking  out  of  the  revolution,  when  so  many  of  the 
old  families  emigrated,  a  descendant  of  the  great  Turenne,  by 
the  name  of  De  Latour  D'Auvergne,  refused  to  accompany  his 
relations,  and  entered  into  the  republican  army.  He  served  in 
all  the  campaigns  of  the  revolution,  distinguished  himself  by  his 
valor,  his  accomplishments,  and  his  generous  spirit,  and  might 
have  risen  to  fortune  and  to  the  highest  honors.  He  refused, 
however,  all  rank  in  the  army,  above  that  of  captain,  and  would 
receive  no  recompense  for  his  achievements  but  a  sword  of  honor. 
Napoleon,  in  testimony  of  his  merits,  gave  him  the  title  of  Pre 
mier  Grenadier  de  France  (First  Grenadier  of  France),  which 
was  the  only  title  he  would  ever  bear.  He  was  killed  in  Ger 
many,  at  the  battle  of  Neuburg.  To  honor  his  memory,  his 
place  was  always  retained  in  his  regiment,  as  if  he  still  occupied 
it ;  and  whenever  the  regiment  was  mustered,  and  the  name  of 
De  Latour  D'Auvergne  was  called  out,  the  reply  was :  "  Dead 
on  the  field  of  honor  !" 


PABIS     AT     THE     RESTORATION. 

\ 

Paris  presented  a  singular  aspect  just  after  the  downfall  of 
Napoleon,  and  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbons.  It  was  filled 
with  a  restless,  roaming  population  ;  a  dark,  sallow  race,  with 
fierce  moustaches,  black  cravats,  and  feverish,  menacing  looks  5 
men  suddenly  thrown  out  of  employ  by  the  return  of  peace  ; 
officers  cut  short  in  their  career,  and  cast  loose  with  scanty 
means,  many  of  them  in  utter  indigence,  upon  the  world  ;  tho 


PARIS  AT  THE  RESTORATION.  213 


broken  elements  of  armies.  They  haunted  the  places  of  public 
resort,  like  restless,  unhappy  spirits,  taking  no  pleasure  ;  hang 
ing  about,  like  lowering  clouds  that  linger  after  a  storm,  and 
giving  a  singular  air  of  gloom  to  this  otherwise  gay  metropolis. 

The  vaunted  courtesy  of  the  old  school,  the  smooth  urbanity 
that  prevailed  in  former  days  of  settled  government  and  long- 
established  aristocracy,  had  disappeared  amidst  the  savage  re 
publicanism  of  the  revolution  and  the  military  furor  of  the  em 
pire  :  recent  reverses  had  stung  the  national  vanity  to  the  quick ; 
and  English  travellers,  who  crowded  to  Paris  on  the  return  of 
peace,  expecting  to  meet  with  a  gay,  good-humored,  complaisant 
populace,  such  as  existed  in  the  time  of  the  "  Sentimental  Jour 
ney,"  were  surprised  at  finding  them  irritable  and  fractious, 
quick  at  fancying  affronts,  and  not  unapt  to  offer  insults.  They 
accordingly  inveighed  with  heat  and  bitterness  at  the  rudeness 
they  experienced  in  the  French  metropolis  :  yet  what  better  had 
they  to  expect  ?  Had  Charles  II.  been  reinstated  in  his  king 
dom  by  the  valor  of  French  troops  ;  had  he  been  wheeled  trium 
phantly  to  London  over  the  trampled  bodies  and  trampled  stand 
ards  of  England's  bravest  sons ;  had  a  French  general  dictated 
to  the  English  capital,  and  a  French  army  been  quartered  in 
Hyde-Park  ;  had  Paris  poured  forth  its  motley  population,  and 
the  wealthy  bourgeoisie  of  every  French  trading  town  swarmed  to 
London  ;  crowding  its  squares ;  filling  its  streets  with  their 
equipages  ;  thronging  its  fashionable  hotels,  and  places  of  amuse 
ments  ;  elbowing  its  impoverished  nobility  out  of  their  palaces 
and  opera  boxes,  and  looking  down  on  the  humiliated  inhabitants 
as  a  conquered  people ;  in  such  a  reverse  of  the  case,  what  de- 


214  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


gree  of  courtesy  would  the  populace  of  London  have  been  apt  tc 
exercise  toward  their  visitors  ?* 

On  the  contrary,  I  have  always  admired  the  degree  of  mag 
nanimity  exhibited  by  the  French  on  the  occupation  of  their 
capital  by  the  English.  When  we  consider  the  military  ambi 
tion  of  this  nation,  its  love  of  glory,  the  splendid  height  to 
which  its  renown  in  arms  had  recently  been  carried,  and  with 
these,  the  tremendous  reverses  it  had  just  undergone,  its  armies 
shattered,  annihilated,  its  capital  captured,  garrisoned,  and  over 
run,  and  that  too  by  its  ancient  rival,  the  English,  toward  whom 
it  had  cherished  for  centuries  a  jealous  and  almost  religious  hos 
tility  ;  could  we  have  wondered,  if  the  tiger  spirit  of  this  fiery 
people  had  broken  out  in  bloody  feuds  and  deadly  quarrels  ;  and 
that  they  had  sought  to  rid  themselves  in  any  way,  of  their  in 
vaders  ?  But  it  is  cowardly  nations  only,  those  who  dare  not 
wield  the  sword,  that  revenge  themselves  with  the  lurking  dag 
ger.  There  were  no  assassinations  in  Paris.  The  French  had 
fought  valiantly,  desperately,  in  the  field  ;  but.  when  valor  was 
no  longer  of  avail,  they  submitted  like  gallant  men  to  a  fate 
they  could  not  withstand.  Some  instances  of  insult  from  the 
populace  were  experienced  by  their  English  visitors  ;  some  per 
sonal  rencontres,  which  led  to  duels,  did  take  place  ;  but  these 
smacked  of  open  and  honorable  hostility.  No  instances  of  lurk 
ing  and  perfidious  revenge  occurred,  and  the  British  soldier  pa 
trolled  the  streets  of  Paris  safe  from  treacherous  assault. 

If  the  English  met  with  harshness  and  repulse  in  social  inter- 

*  The  above  remarks  were  suggested  by  a  conversation  with  the  late 
Mr.  Canning,  whom  the  author  met  in  Paris,  and  who  expressed  himself  in 
the  most  liberal  way  concerning  the  magnanimity  of  the  French  on  the 
occupation  of  their  capital  by  strangers. 


PARIS  AT  THE  RESTORATION.  215 


course,  it  was  in  some  degree  a  proof  that  the  people  are  more 
sincere  than  has  been  represented.  The  emigrants  who  had  just 
returned,  were  not  yet  reinstated.  Society  was  constituted  of 
those  who  had  nourished  under  the  late  regime ;  the  newly  en 
nobled,  the  recently  enriched,  who  felt  their  prosperity  and  their 
consequence  endangered  by  this  change  of  things.  The  broken- 
down  officer,  who  saw  his  glory  tarnished,  his  fortune  ruined,  his 
occupation  gone,  could  not  be  expected  to  look  with  complacency 
upon  the  authors  of  his  downfall.  The  English  visitor,  flushed 
with  health,  and  wealth,  and  victory,  could  little  enter  into  the 
feelings  of  the  blighted  warrior,  scarred  with  a  hundred  battles, 
an  exile  from  the  camp,  broken  in  constitution  by  the  wars,  im 
poverished  by  the  peace,  and  cast  back,  a  needy  stranger  in  the 
splendid  but  captured  metropolis  of  his  country. 

"  Oh !  who  can  tell  what  heroes  feel 
When  all  but  life  and  honor's  lost ! " 

And  here  let  me  notice  the  conduct  of  the  French  soldiery 
on  the  dismemberment  of  the  Army  of  the  Loire,  when  two  hun 
dred  thousand  men  were  suddenly  thrown  out  of  employ ;  men 
who  had  been  brought  up  to  the  camp,  and  scarce  knew  any  other 
home.  Few  in  civil,  peaceful  life,  are  aware  of  the  severe  trial 
to  the  feelings  that  takes  place  on  the  dissolution  of  a  regiment. 
There  is  a  fraternity  in  arms.  The  community  of  dangers,  hard 
ships,  enjoyments ;  the  participation  in  battles  and  victories ; 
the  companionship  in  adventures,  at  a  time  of  life  when  men's 
feelings  are  most  fresh,  susceptible,  and  ardent,  all  these  bind 
the  members  of  a  regiment  strongly  together.  To  them  the  re 
giment  is  friends,  family,  home.  They  identify  themselves  with 


216  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


its  fortunes,  its  glories,  its  disgraces.  Imagine  this  romantic  tie 
suddenly  dissolved  ;  the  regiment  broken  up  ;  the  occupation  of 
its  members  gone  ;  their  military  pride  mortified  ;  the  career  of 
glory  closed  behind  them  ;  that  of  obscurity,  dependence,  want, 
neglect,  perhaps  beggary,  before  them.  Such  was  the  case  with 
the  soldiers  of  the  Army  of  the  Loire.  They  were  sent  off  in 
squads,  with  officers,  to  the  principal  towns  where  they  were  to 
be  disarmed  and  discharged.  In  this  way  they  passed  through 
the  country  with  arms  in  their  hands,  often  exposed  to  slights 
and  scoffs,  to  hunger  and  various  hardships  and  privations ;  but 
they  conducted  themselves  magnanimously,  without  any  of  those 
outbreaks  of  violence  and  wrong  that  so  often  attend  the  dis 
memberment  of  armies. 


The  few  years  that  have  elapsed  since  the  time  above  alluded 
to,  have  already  had  their  effect.  The  proud  and  angry  spirits 
which  then  roamed  about  Paris  unemployed,  have  co'oled  down, 
and  found  occupation.  The  national  character  begins  to  recover 
its  old  channels,  though  worn  deeper  by  recent  torrents.  The 
natural  urbanity  of  the  French  begins  to  find  its  way,  like  oil,  to 
the  surface,  though  there  still  remains  a  degree  of  roughness  and 
bluntness  of  manner,  partly  real,  and  partly  affected,  by  such  as 
imagine  it  to  indicate  force  and  frankness.  The  events  of  the  last 
thirty  years  have  rendered  the  French  a  more  reflecting  people. 
They  have  acquired  greater  independence  of  mind  and  strength 
of  judgment,  together  with  a  portion  of  that  prudence  which  re 
sults  from  experiencing  the  dangerous  consequences  of  excesses. 
However  that  period  may  have  been  stained  by  crimes,  and  filled 


PARIS  AT  THE  RESTORATION.  217 


with  extravagances,  the  French  have  certainly  come  out  of  it  a 
greater  nation  than  before.  One  of  their  own  philosophers  ob 
serves,  that  in  one  or  two  generations  the  nation  will  probably  com 
bine  the  ease  and  elegance  of  the  old  character  with  force  and 
solidity.  They  were  light,  he  says,  before  the  revolution ;  then 
wild  and  savage ;  they  have  become  more  thoughtful  and  reflective. 
It  is  only  old  Frenchmen,  now-a-days,  that  are  gay  and  trivial  5 
the  young  are  very  serious  personages. 


P.  S.  In  the  course  of  a  morning's  walk,  about  the  time  the 
above  remarks  were  written,  I  observed  the  Duke  of  Wellington, 
who  was  on  a  brief  visit  to  Paris.  He  was  alone,  simply  attired 
in  a  blue  frock ;  with  an  umbrella  under  his  arm,  and  his  hat 
drawn  over  his  eyes,  and  sauntering  across  the  Place  Vendome, 
close  by  the  column  of  Napoleon.  He  gave  a  glance  up  at  the 
column  as  he  passed,  and  continued  his  loitering  way  up  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix ;  stopping  occasionally  to  gaze  in  at  the  shop-windows ; 
elbowed  now  and  then  by  other  gazers,  who  little  suspected  that 
the  quiet,  lounging  individual  they  were  jostling  so  unceremo 
niously,  was  the  conqueror  who  had  twice  entered  their  capital 
victoriously ;  had  controlled  the  destinies  of  the  nation,  and 
eclipsed  the  glory  of  the  military  idol,  at  the  base  of  whose  column 
he  was  thus  negligently  sauntering. 

Some  years  afterwards  I  was  at  an  evening's  entertainment 
given  by  the  Duke  at  Apsley  House,  to  William  IY.  The  Duke 
had  manifested  his  admiration  of  his  great  adversary,  by  having 
portraits  of  him  in  different  parts  of  the  house.  At  the  bottom 
of  the  grand  staircase,  stood  the  colossal  statue  of  the  Erape :<>  . 

10 


218  SKETCHES  IN  PARIS. 


by  Canova.  It  was  of  marble,  in  the  antique  style,  with  one  arm 
partly  extended,  holding  a  figure  of  victory.  Over  this  arm  the 
ladies,  in  tripping  up  stairs  to  the  ball,  had  thrown  their  shawls. 
It  was  a  singular  office  for  the  statue  of  Napoleon  to  perform  in 
the  mansion  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington ! 

"  Imperial  Caesar  dead,  and  turned  to  clay,"  etc.,  eta. 


A  CONTENTED  MAN. 

IN  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries  there  is  a  sunny  corner  under  the 
wall  of  a  terrace  which  fronts  the  south.  Along  the  wall  is  a 
range  of  benches  commanding  a  view  of  the  walks  and  avenues  of 
the  garden.  This  genial  nook  is  a  place  of  great  resort  in  the 
latter  part  of  autumn,  and  in  fine  days  in  winter,  as  it  seems  to 
retain  the  flavor  of  departed  summer.  On  a  calm,  bright  morning 
it  is  quite  alive  with  nursery-maids  and  their  playful  little 
charges.  Hither  also  resort  a  number  of  ancient  ladies  and  gen 
tlemen,  who,  with  laudable  thrift  in  small  pleasures  and  small  ex 
penses,  for  which  the  French  are  to  be  noted,  come  here  to  enjoy 
sunshine  and  save  firewood.  Here  may  often  be  seen  some  cava 
lier  of  the  old  school,  when  the  sunbeams  have  warmed  his  blood 
into  something  like  a  glow,  fluttering  about  like  a  frostbitten 
moth  thawed  before  the  fire,  putting  forth  a  feeble  show  of  gal 
lantry  among  the  antiquated  dames,  and  now  and  then  eyeing  the 
buxom  nursery-maids  with  what  might  almost  be  mistaken  for  an 
air  of  libertinism. 

Among  the  habitual  frequenters  of  this  place,  I  had  often  ro- 


220  A  CONTENTED  MAN. 


marked  an  old  gentleman,  whose  dress  was  decidedly  anti-revolu- 
tional.  He  wore  the  three-cornered  cocked  hat  of  the  ancien  re 
gime  ;  his  hair  was  frizzed  over  each  ear  into  ailes  de  pigeon,  a 
style  strongly  savoring  of  Bourbonism ;  and  a  queue  stuck  out  be 
hind,  the  loyalty  of  which  was  not  to  be  disputed.  His  dress, 
though  ancient,  had  an  air  of  decayed  gentility,  and  I  observed  that 
he  took  his  snuff  out  of  an  elegant  though  old-fashioned  gold  box. 
He  appeared  to  be  the  most  popular  man  on  the  walk.  He  had 
a  compliment  for  every  old  lady,  he  kissed  every  child,  and  he  pat 
ted  every  little  dog  on  the  head  ;  for  children  and  little  dogs  are 
very  important  members  of  society  in  France.  I  must  observe, 
however,  that  he  seldom  kissed  a  child  without,  at  the  same  time, 
pinching  the  nursery-maid's  cheek;  a  Frenchman  of  the  old  school 
never  forgets  his  devoirs  to  the  sex. 

I  had  taken  a  liking  to  this  old  gentleman.  There  was  an  ha 
bitual  expression  of  benevolence  in  his  face,  which  I  have  very 
frequently  remarked  in  these  relics  of  the  politer  days  of  France. 
The  constant  interchange  of  those  thousand  little  courtesies  which 
imperceptibly  sweeten  life,  have  a  happy  effect  upon  the  features, 
and  spread  a  mellow  evening  charm  over  the  wrinkles  of  old  age. 

Where  there  is  a  favorable  predisposition,  one  soon  forms  a 
kind  of  tacit  intimacy  by  often  meeting  on  the  same  walks.  Once 
or  twice  I  accommodated  him  with  a  bench,  after  which  we  touched 
hats  on  passing  each  other ;  at  length  we  got  so  far  as  to  take  a 
pinch  of  snuff  together  out  of  his  box,  which  is  equivalent  to  eat 
ing  salt  together  in  the  East ;  from  that  time  our  acquaintance  was 
established. 

I  now  became  his  frequent  companion  in  his  morning  prome- 
nades,  and  derived  much  amusement  from  his  good-humored  re- 


A  CONTENTED  MAN.  -21 

marks  on  men  and  manners.  One  morning,  as  we  were  strolling 
through  an  alley  of  the  Tuileries,  with  the  autumnal  breeze  whirl 
ing  the  yellow  leaves  about  our  path,  my  companion  fell  into  a 
peculiarly  communicative  vein,  and  gave  me  several  particulars 
of  his  history.  He  had  once  been  wealthy,  and  possessed  of  a 
fine  estate  in  the  country,  and  a  noble  hotel  in  Paris ;  but  the 
revolution,  which  effected  so  many  disastrous  changes,  stripped 
him  of  every  thing.  He  was  secretly  denounced  by  his  own  stew 
ard  during  a  sanguinary  period  of  the  revolution,  and  a  number 
of  the  bloodhounds  of  the  Convention  were  sent  to  arrest  him. 
He  received  private  intelligence  of  their  approach  in  time  to  effect 
his  escape.  He  landed  in  England  without  money  or  friends,  but 
considered  himself  singularly  fortunate  in  having  his  head  upon 
his  shoulders ;  several  of  his  neighbors  having  been  guillotined 
as  a  punishment  for  being  rich. 

When  he  reached  London  he  had  but  a  louis  in  his  pocket, 
and  no  prospect  of  getting  another.  He  ate  a  solitary  dinner  on 
beefsteak,  and  was  almost  poisoned  by  port  wine,  which  from  its 
color  he  had  mistaken  for  claret.  The  dingy  look  of  the  chop-house, 
and  of  the  little  mahogany-colored  box  in  which  he  ate  his  dinner, 
contrasted  sadly  with  the  gay  saloons  of  Paris.  Every  thing 
looked  gloomy  and  disheartening.  Poverty  stared  him  in  tho 
face;  he  turned  over  the  few  shillings  he  had  of  change;  did 
not  know  what  was  to  become  of  him ;  and — went  to  the  theatre ! 

He  took  his  seat  in  the  pit,  listened  attentively  to  a  tragedy 
of  which  he  did  not  understand  a  word,  and  which  seemed  made 
up  of  fighting,  and  stabbing,  and  scene-shifting,  and  began  to  feel 
his  spirits  sinking  within  him ;  when,  casting  his  eyes  into  the 
orchestra,  what  was  his  surprise  to  recognize  an  old  friend  and 


222  A  CONTENTED  MAN 


neighbor  in  the  very  act  of  extorting  music  from  a  huge  violon 
cello. 

As  soon  as  the  evening's  performance  was  ove*r  he  tapped  his 
friend  on  the  shoulder  ;  they  kissed  each  other  on  each  cheek, 
and  the  musician  took  him  home,  and  shared  his  lodgings  with 
him.  He  had  learned  music  as  an  accomplishment;  by  his  friend's 
advice  he  now  turned  to  it  as  a  mean  of  support.  He  procured  a 
violin,  offered  himself  for  the  orchestra,  was  received,  and  again 
considered  himself  one  of  the  most  fortunate  men  upon  earth. 

Here  therefore  he  lived  for  many  years  during  the  ascendency 
of  the  terrible  Napoleon.  He  found  several  emigrants  living  like 
himself,  by  the  exercise  of  their  talents.  They  associated  together, 
talked  of  France  and  of  old  times,  and  endeavored  to  keep  up  a 
semblance  of  Parisian  life  in  the  centre  of  London. 

They  dined  at  a  miserable  cheap  French  restaurateur  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Leicester-square,  where  they  were  served  with  a 
caricature  of  French  cookery.  They  took  their  promenade  in  St. 
James's  Park,  and  endeavored  to  fancy  it  the  Tuileries  ;  in  short, 
they  made  shift  to  accommodate  themselves  to  every  thing  but  an 
English  Sunday.  Indeed  the  old  gentleman  seemed  to  have 
nothing  to  say  against  the  English,  whom  he  affirmed  to  be  ~braves 
gens  ;  and  he  mingled  so  much  among  them,  that  at  the  end  of 
twenty  years  he  could  speak  their  language  almost  well  enough  to 
be  understood. 

The  downfall  of  Napoleon  was  another  epoch  in  his  life.  He 
had  considered  himself  a  fortunate  man  to  make  his  escape  penni 
less  out  of  France,  and  he  considered  himself  fortunate  to  be  able 
to  return  penniless  into  it.  It  is  true  that  he  found  his  Parisian 
hotel  had  passed  through  several  hands  during  the  vicissi- 


A  CONTENTED  MAN.  223 

tudes  of  the  times,  so  as  to  be  beyond  the  reach  of  recovery ;  but 
then  he  had  been  noticed  benignantly  by  government,  and  had  a 
pension  of  several  hundred  francs,  upon  which,  with  careful  man 
agement,  he  lived  independently,  and,  as  far  as  I  could  judge, 
happily. 

As  his  once  splendid  hotel  was  now  occupied  as  a  hotel  garni, 
he  hired  a  small  chamber  in  the  attic ;  it  was  but,  as  he  said, 
changing  his  bedroom  up  two  pair  of  stairs — he  was  still  in  his 
own  house.  His  room  was  decorated  with  pictures  of  several 
beauties  of  former  times,  with  whom  he  professed  to  have  been  on 
favorable  terms:  among  them  was  a  favorite  opera-dancer,  who 
had  been  the  admiration  of  Paris  at  the  breaking  out  of  the  re 
volution.  She  had  been  a  protegee  of  my  friend,  and  one  of  the 
few  of  his  youthful  favorites  who  had  survived  the  lapse  of  time 
and  its  various  vicissitudes.  They  had  renewed  their  acquaint 
ance,  and  she  now  and  then  visited  him;  but  the  beautiful 
Psyche,  once  the  fashion  of  the  day  and  the  idol  of  the  parterre 
was  now  a  shrivelled,  little  old  woman,  warped  in  the  back,  and 
with  a  hooked  nose. 

The  old  gentleman  was  a  devout  attendant  upon  levees :  he 
was  most  zealous  in  his  loyalty,  and  could  not  speak  of  the  royal 
family  without  a  burst  of  enthusiasm,  for  he  still  felt  towards 
them  as  his  companions  in  exile.  As  to  his  poverty  he  made 
light  of  it,  and  indeed  had  a  good-humored  way  of  consoling  him 
self  for  every  cross  and  privation.  If  he  had  lost  his  chateau  in 
the  country,  he  had  half  a  dozen  royal  palaces,  as  it  were,  at  his 
command.  He  had  Versailles  and  St.  Cloud  for  his  country  re 
sorts,  and  the  shady  alleys  of  the  Tuileries  and  the  Luxembourg 
for  his  town  recreation.  Thus  all  his  promenades  and  relaxations 


224  A  CONTENTED  MAN. 


were  magnificent,  yet  cost  nothing.  When  I  walk  through  these 
fine  gardens,  said  he,  I  have  only  to  fancy  myself  the  owner  of 
them,  and  they  are  mine.  All  these  gay  crowds  are  my  visitors, 
and  I  defy  the  grand  seignior  himself  to  display  a  greater  variety 
of  beauty.  Nay,  what  is  better,  I  have  not  the  trouble  of  enter 
taining  them.  My  estate  is  a  perfect  Sans  Souci,  where  every 
one  does  as  he  pleases,  and  no  one  troubles  the  owner.  All  Paris 
is  my  theatre,  and  presents  me  with  a  continual  spectacle.  I  have 
a  table  spread  for  me  in  every  street,  and  thousands  of  waiters 
ready  to  fly  at  my  bidding.  When  my  servants  have  waited  upon 
me  I  pay  them,  discharge  them,  and  there's  an  end :  I  have  no 
fears  of  their  wronging  or  pilfering  me  when  my  back  is  turned. 
Upon  the  whole,  said  the  old  gentleman,  with  a  smile  of  infinite 
good  humor,  .when  I  think  upon  the  various  risks  I  have  run,  and 
the  manner  in  which  I  have  escaped  them ;  when  I  recollect  all 
that  I  have  suffered,  and  consider  all  that  I  at  present  enjoy,  I 
cannot  but  look  upon  myself  as  a  man  of  singular  good  fortune. 

Such  was  the  brief  history  of  this  practical  philosopher,  and  it 
is  a  picture  of  many  a  Frenchman  ruined  by  the  revolution.  The 
French  appear  to  have  a  greater  facility  than  most  men  in  accom 
modating  themselves  to  the  reverses  of  life,  and  of  extracting 
honey  out  of  the  bitter  things  of  this  world.  The  first  shock  of 
calamity  is  apt  to  overwhelm  them,  but  when  it  is  once  past,  their 
natural  buoyancy  of  feeling  soon  brings  them  to  the  surface. 
This  may  be  called  the  result  of  levity  of  character,  but  it  answers 
the  end  of  reconciling  us  to  misfortune,  and  if  it  be  not  true  phi 
losophy,  it  is  something  almost  as  efficacious.  Ever  since  I  have 
heard  the  story  of  my  little  Frenchman,  I  have  treasured  it  up  in 
my  heart ;  and  I  thank  my  stars  I  have  at  length  found,  what  I 


A  CONTENTED  MAN.  225 


had  long  considered  as  not  to  be  found  on  earth — a  contented 
man. 


P.  S.  There  is  no  calculating  on  human  happiness.  Since 
writing  the  foregoing,  the  law  of  indemnity  has  been  passed,  and 
iny  friend  restored  to  a  great  part  of  his  fortune.  I  was  absent 
from  Paris  at  the  time,  but  on  my  return  hastened  to  congratulate 
him.  I  found  him  magnificently  lodged  on  the  first  floor  of  his 
hotel.  I  was  ushered,  by  a  servant  in  livery,  through  splendid 
saloons,  to  a  cabinet  richly  furnished,  where  I  found  my  little 
Frenchman  reclining  on  a  couch.  He  received  me  with  his  usual 
cordiality ;  but  I  saw  the  gayety  and  benevolence  of  his  counte 
nance  had  fled ;  he  had  an  eye  full  of  care  and  anxiety. 

I  congratulated  him  on  his  good  fortune.  "  Good  fortune  ?  " 
echoed  he ;  u  bah  !  I  have  been  plundered  of  a  princely  fortune, 
and  they  give  me  a  pittance  as  an  indemnity." 

Alas  !  I  found  my  late  poor  and  contented  friend  one  of  the 
richest  and  most  miserable  men  in  Paris.  Instead  of  rejoicing  in 
the  ample  competency  restored  to  him,  he  is  daily  repining  at  the 
superfluity  withheld.  He  no  longer  wanders  in  happy  idleness 
about  Paris,  but  is  a  repining  attendant  in  the  ante-chambers  of 
ministers.  His  loyality  has  evaporated  with  his  gayety;  he 
screws  his  mouth  when  the  Bourbons  are  mentioned,  and  even 
shrugs  his  shoulders  when  he  hears  the  praises  of  the  king.  In 
a  word,  he  is  one  of  the  many  philosophers  undone  by  the  law  of 
indemnity,  and  his  case  is  desperate,  for  I  doubt  whether  even 
another  reverse  of  fortune,  which  should  restore  him  to  poverty, 
could  make  him  again  a  happy  man. 
10* 


BROEK: 


THE     DUTCH     PARADISE. 


IT  has  long  been  a  matter  of  discussion  and  controversy  among 
the  pious  and  the  learned,  as  to  the  situation  of  the  terrestrial 
paradise  whence  our  first  parents  were  exiled.  This  question 
has  been  put  to  rest  by  certain  of  the  faithful  in  Holland,  who 
have  decided  in  favor  of  the  vilage  of  BROEK,  about  six  miles 
from  Amsterdam.  It  may  not,  they  observe,  correspond  in  all 
respects  to  the  description  of  the  garden  of  Eden,  handed  down 
from  days  of  yore,  but  it  comes  nearer  to  their  ideas  of  a  perfect 
paradise  than  any  other  place  on  earth. 

This  eulogium  induced  me  to  make  some  inquiries  as  to  this 
favored  spot,  in  the  course  of  a  sojourn  at  the  city  of  Amsterdam, 
and  the  information  I  procured  fully  justified  the  enthusiastic 
praises  I  had  heard.  The  village  of  Broek  is  situated  in  "Water- 
land,  in  the  midst  of  the  greenest  and  richest  pastures  of  Holland, 
I  may  say,  of  Europe.  These  pastures  are  the  source  of  its 
wealth,  for  it  is  famous  for  its  dairies,  and  for  those  oval  cheeses 
which  regale  and  perfume  the  whole  civilized  world.  The  popula 
tion  consists  of  about  six  hundred  persons,  comprising  several 


BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE.  227 


families  which  have  inhabited  the  place  since  time  immemorial, 
and  have  waxed  rich  on  the  products  of  their  meadows.  They 
keep  all  their  wealth  among  themselves ;  intermarrying,  and  keep- 
ing  all  strangers  at  a  wary  distance.  They  are  a  "  hard  money  " 
people,  and  remarkable  for  turning  the  penny  the  right  way.  It 
is  said  to  have  been  an  old  rule,  established  by  one  of  the  primi 
tive  financiers  and  legislators  of  Broek,  that  no  one  should  leave 
the  village  with  more  than  six  guilders  in  his  pocket,  or  return 
with  less  than  ten  ;  a  shrewd  regulation,  well  worthy  the  attention 
of  modern  political  economists,  who  are  so  anxious  to  fix  the  bal 
ance  of  trade. 

What,  however,  renders  Broek  so  perfect  an  elysium,  in  the 
eyes  of  all  true  Hollanders,  is  the  matchless  height  to  which  the 
spirit  of  cleanliness  is  carried  there.  It  amounts  almost  to  a  re 
ligion  among  the  inhabitants,  who  pass  the  greater  part  of  their 
time  rubbing  and  scrubbing,  and  painting  and  varnishing :  each 
housewife  vies  with  her  neighbor  in  her  devotion  to  the  scrubbing 
brush,  as  zealous  Catholics  do  in  their  devotion  to  the  cross ;  and 
it  is  said,  a  notable  housewife  of  the  place  in  days  of  yore,  is  held 
in  pious  remembrance,  and  almost  canonized  as  a  saint,  for  hav 
ing  died  of  pure  exhaustion  and  chagrin,  in  an  ineffectual  attempt 
to  scour  a  black  man  white. 

These  particulars  awakened  my  ardent  curiosity  to  see  a  place 
which  I  pictured  to  myself  the  very  fountain-head  of  certain  hered 
itary  habits  and  customs  prevalent  among  the  descendants  of  the 
original  Dutch  settlers  of  my  native  state.  I  accordingly  lost  no 
time  in  performing  a  pilgrimage  to  Broek. 

Before  I  reached  the  place,  I  beheld  symptoms  of  the  tranquil 
character  of  its  inhabitants.  A  little  clump-built  boat  was  in  full 


228  BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE. 


sail  along  the  lazy  bosom  of  a  canal,  but  its  sail  consisted  of  the 
blades  of  two  paddles  stood  on  end,  while  the  navigator  sat  steer 
ing  Vith  a  third  paddle  in  the  stern,  crouched  down  like  a  toad; 
with  a  slouched  hat  drawn  over  his  eyes.  I  presumed  him  to  be 
some  nautical  lover,  on  the  way  to  his  mistress.  After  proceeding 
a  little  farther,  I  came  in  sight  of  the  harbor  or  port  of  destina 
tion  of  this  drowsy  navigator.  This  was  the  Broeken-Meer,  an 
artificial  basin,  or  sheet  of  olive-green  water,  tranquil  as  a  mill- 
pond.  On  this  the  village  of  Broek  is  situated,  and  the  borders 
are  laboriously  decorated  with  flower-beds,  box-trees  clipped  into 
all  kinds  of  ingenious  shapes  and  fancies,  and  little  "  lust "  houses 
or  pavilions. 

I  alighted  outside  of  the  village,  for  no  horse  nor  vehicle  is 
permitted  to  enter  its  precincts,  lest  it  should  cause  defilement  of 
the  well-scoured  pavements.  Shaking  the  dust  off  my  feet,  there 
fore,  I  prepared  to  enter,  with  due  reverence  and  circumspection, 
this  sanctum  sanctorum  of  Dutch  cleanliness.  I  entered  by  a 
narrow  street,  paved  with  yellow  bricks,  laid  edgewise,  and  so 
clean  that  one  might  eat  from  them,  Indeed,  they  were  actually 
worn  deep,  not  by  the  tread  of  feet,  but  by  the  friction  of  the 
scrubbing-brush. 

The  houses  were  built  of  wood,  and  all  appeared  to  have  been 
freshly  painted,  of  green,  yellow,  and  other  bright  colors.  They 
were  separated  from  each  other  by  gardens  and  orchards,  and  stood 
at  some  little  distance  from  the  street,  with  wide  areas  or  court 
yards,  paved  in  mosaic,  with  variegated  stones,  polished  by  fre 
quent  rubbing.  The  areas  were  divided  from  the  street  by  curi 
ously-wrought  railings,  or  balustrades,  of  iron,  surmounted  with 
brass  and  copper  balls,  scoured  into  dazzling  effulgence.  The 


BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE.  229 


yery  trunks  of  the  trees  in  front  of  the  houses  were  by  the  same 
process  made  to  look  as  if  they  had  been  varnished.  The  por 
ches,  doors,  and  window-frames  of  the  houses  were  of  exotic  woods, 
curiously  carved,  and  polished  like  costly  furniture.  The  front 
doors  are  never  opened,  excepting  on  christenings,  marriages,  or 
funerals :  on  all  ordinary  occasions,  visitors  enter  by  the  back 
door.  In  former  times,  persons  when  admitted  had  to  put  on 
slippers,  but  this  oriental  ceremony  is  no  longer  insisted  upon. 

A  poor  devil  Frenchman,  who  attended  upon  me  as  cicerone, 
boasted  with  some  degree  of  exultation,  of  a  triumph  of  his  coun 
trymen  over  the  stern  regulations  of  the  place.  During  the  time 
that  Holland  was  overrun  by  the  armies  of  the  French  republic, 
a  French  general,  surrounded  by  his  whole  etat  major,  who  had 
come  from  Amsterdam  to  view  the  wonders  of  Broek,  applied  for 
admission  at  one  of  these  taboo'd  portals.  The  reply  was,  that 
the  owner  never  received  any  one  who  did  not  come  introduced  by 
some  friend.  "  Very  well,"  said  the  general;  "  take  my  compli 
ments  to  your  master,  and  tell  him  I  will  return  here  to-morrow 
with  a  company  of  soldiers,  pour  parler  raison  avec  mon  ami 
Hollandais."  Terrified  at  the  idea  of  having  a  company  of  sol 
diers  billeted  upon  him,  the  owner  threw  open  his  house,  enter 
tained  the  general  and  his  retinue  with  unwonted  hospitality; 
though  it  is  said  it  cost  the  family  a  month's  scrubbing  and  scour 
ing,  to  restore  all  things  to  exact  order,  after  this  military  invasion. 
My  vagabond  informant  seemed  to  consider  this  one  of  the  great 
est  victories  of  the  republic. 

I  walked  about  the  place  in  mute  wonder  and  admiration.  A 
dead  stillness  prevailed  around,  like  that  in  the  deserted  streets 
of  Pompeii.  No  sign  of  life  was  to  be  seen,  excepting  now  and 


230  BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE. 


then  a  hand,  and  a  long  pipe,  and  an  occasional  puff  of  smoke,  out 
of  the  window  of  some  "  lust-haus "  overhanging  a  miniature 
canal ;  and  on  approaching  a  little  nearer,  the  periphery  in  pro 
file  of  some  robustious  burgher. 

Among  the  grand  houses  pointed  out  to  me,  were  those  of 
Claes  Bakker,  and  Cornelius  Bakker,  richly  carved  and  gilded, 
with  flower-gardens  and  clipped  shrubberies;  and  that  of  the 
Great  Ditmus,  who,  my  poor  devil  cicerone  imformed  me,  in  a 
whisper,  was  worth  two  millions ;  all  these  were  mansions  shut 
up  from  the  world,  and  only  kept  to  be  cleaned.  After  having 
been  conducted  from  one  wonder  to  another  of  the  village,  I  was 
ushered  by  my  guide  into  the  grounds  and  gardens  of  Mynheer 
Broekker,  another  mighty  cheese-manufacturer,  worth  eighty 
thousand  guilders  a  year.  I  had  repeatedly  been  struck  with  the 
similarity  of  all  that  I  had  seen  in  this  amphibious  little  village, 
to  the  buildings  and  landscapes  on  Chinese  platters  and  tea-pots ; 
but  here  I  found  the  similarity  complete;  for  I  was  told  that 
these  gardens  were  modelled  upon  Van  Bramm's  description  of 
those  of  Yuen  min  Yuen,  in  China.  Here  were  serpentine  walks, 
with  trellised  borders;  winding  canals,  with  fanciful  Chinese 
bridges ;  flower  beds  resembling  huge  baskets,  with  the  flower  of 
"love  lies  bleeding"  falling  over  to  the  ground.  But  mostly  had 
the  fancy  of  Mynheer  Broekker  been  displayed  about  a  stagnant 
little  lake,  on  which  a  corpulent  like  pinnace  lay  at  anchor.  On 
the  border  was  a  cottage,  within  which  were  a  wooden  man  and 
woman  seated  at  table,  and  a  wooden  dog  beneath,  all  the  size  of 
life :  on  pressing  a  spring,  the  woman  commenced  spinning,  and 
the  dog  barked  furiously.  On  the  lake  were  wooden  swans, 
painted  to  the  life :  some  floating,  others  on  the  nest  among  the 


BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE.  231 


rushes ;  while  a  wooden  sportsman,  crouched  among  the  bushes, 
was  preparing  his  gun  to  take  deadly  aim.  In  another  part  of 
the  garden  was  a  dominie  in  his  clerical  robes,  with  wig,  pipe, 
and  cocked  hat;  and  mandarins  with  nodding  heads,  amid  red 
lions,  green  tigers,  and  blue  hares.  Last  of  all,  the  heathen  dei 
ties,  in  wood  and  plaster,  male  and  female,  naked  and  barefaced 
as  usual,  and  seeming  to  stare  with  wonder  at  finding  themselves 
in  such  strange  company. 

My  shabby  Frebch  guide,  while  he  pointed  out  all  these  me 
chanical  marvels  of  the  garden,  was  anxious  to  let  me  see  that  he 
had  too  polite  a  taste  to  be  pleased  by  them.  At  every  new  nick- 
nack  he  would  screw  down  his  mouth,  shrug  up  his  shoulders, 
take  a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  exclaim  :  "  Ma  foi.  Monsieur,  ces  Hol- 
landais  sont  forts  pour  ces  Metises  la!  " 

To  attempt  to  gain  admission  to  any  of  these  stately  abodes 
was  out  of  the  question,  having  no  company  of  soldiers  to  enforce 
a  solicitation.  I  was  fortunate  enough,  however,  through  the  aid 
of  my  guide,  to  make  my  way  into  the  kitchen  of  the  illustrious 
Ditmus,  and  I  question  whether  the  parlor  would  have  proved 
more  worthy  of  observation.  The  cook,  a  little  wiry,  hook-nosed 
woman,  worn  thin  by  incessant  action  and  friction,  was  bustling 
about  among  her  kettles  and  sauce-pans,  with  the  scullion  at  her 
heels,  both  clattering  in  wooden  shoes,  which  were  as  clean  and 
white  as  the  milk-pails ;  rows  of  vessels,  of  brass  and  copper,  regi 
ments  of  pewter  dishes,  and  portly  porringers,  gave  resplendent 
evidence  of  the  intensity  of  their  cleanliness ;  the  very  trammels 
and  hangers  in  the  fire-place  were  highly  scoured,  and  the  bur 
nished  face  of  the  good  Saint  Nicholas  shone  forth  from  the  iron 
plate  of  the  chimney-back. 


232  BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE. 


Among  the  decorations  of  the  kitchen,  was  a  printed  sheet  of 
wood-cuts,  representing  the  various  holiday  customs  of  Holland, 
with  explanatory  rhymes.  Here  I  was  delighted  to  recognize  the 
jollities  of  New- Year's  day;  the  festivities  of  Paas  and  Pinkster, 
nd  all  the  other  merrymakings  handed  down  in  my  native  place 
from  the  earliest  times  of  New- Amsterdam,  and  which  had  been 
such  bright  spots  in  the  year,  in  my  childhood.  I  eagerly  made 
myself  master  of  this  precious  document,  for  a  trifling  consider 
ation,  and  bore  it  off  as  a  memento  of  the  place ;  though  I  ques 
tion  if,  in  so  doing,  I  did  not  carry  off  with  me  the  whole  current 
literature  of  Broek. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention,  that  this  village  is  the  paradise 
of  cows  as  well  as  men :  indeed  you  would  almost  suppose  the  cow 
to  be  as  much  an  object  of  worship  here,  as  the  bull  was  among 
the  ancient  Egyptians ;  and  well  does  she  merit  it,  for  she  is  in 
fact  the  patroness  of  the  place.  The  same  scrupulous  cleanliness, 
however,  which  pervades  every  thing  else,  is  manifested  in  the 
treatment  of  this  venerated  animal.  She  is  not  permitted  to  per 
ambulate  the  place,  but  in  winter,  when  she  forsakes  the  rich  pas 
ture,  a  well-built  house  is  provided  for  her,  well  painted,  and  main 
tained  in  the  most  perfect  order.  Her  stall  is  of  ample  dimensions ; 
the  floor  is  scrubbed  and  polished ;  her  hide  is  daily  curried  and 
brushed,  and  sponged  to  her  heart's  content,  and  her  tail  is 
daintily  tucked  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  decorated  with  a  ribbon ! 

On  my  way  back  through  the  village,  I  passed  the  house  of 
the  prediger,  or  preacher;  a  very  comfortable  mansion,  which  led 
me  to  augur  well  of  the  state  of  religion  in  the  village.  On  in 
quiry,  I  was  told  that  for  a  long  time  the  inhabitants  lived  in  a 
great  state  of  indifference  as  to  religious  matters  :  it  was  in  vain 


BROEK:  OR  THE  DUTCH  PARADISE. 


that  their  preachers  endeavored  to  arouse  their  thoughts  as  to  a 
future  state  :  the  joys  of  heaven,  as  commonly  depicted,  were  but 
little  to  their  taste.  At  length  a  dominie  appeared  among  them, 
who  struck  out  in  a  different  vein.  He  depicted  the  New  Jeru 
salem  as  a  place  all  smooth  and  level ;  with  beautiful  dykes,  and 
ditches,  and  canals ;  and  houses  all  shining  with  paint  and  varnish, 
and  glazed  tiles  j  and  where  there  should  never  come  horse,  nor 
ass,  nor  cat,  nor  dog,  nor  any  thing  that  could  make  noise  or  dirt ; 
but  there  should  be  nothing  but  rubbing  and  scrubbing,  and  wash 
ing  and  painting,  and  gilding  and  varnishing,  for  ever  and  ever, 
amen !  Since  that  time,  the  good  housewives  of  Broek  have  all 
turned  their  faces  Zionward. 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


of 

FOUND   AMONG   THE   KNICKERBOCKER  PAPERS   AT   WOLFERT's   ROOST. 

WHOEVER  has  visited  the  ancient  and  renowned  village  of  Com- 
munipaw,  may  have  noticed  an  old  stone  building,  of  most  ruin 
ous  and  sinister  appearance.  The  doors  and  window-shutters  are 
ready  to  drop  from  their  hinges  ;  old  clothes  are  stuffed  in  the 
broken  panes  of  glass,  while  legions  of  half-starved  dogs  prowl 
about  the  premises,  and  rush  out  and  bark  at  every  passer  by  ; 
for  your  beggarly  house  in  a  village  is  most  apt  to  swarm  with 
profligate  and  ill-conditioned  dogs.  What  adds  to  the  sinister  ap 
pearance  of  this  mansion,  is  a  tall  frame  in  front,  not  a  little  re 
sembling  a  gallows,  and  which  looks  as  if  waiting  to  accommodate 
some  of  the  inhabitants  with  a  well-merited  airing.  It  is  not  a 
gallows,  however,  but  an  ancient  sign-post  ;  for  this  dwelling 
in  the  golden  days  of  Communipaw,  was  one  of  the  most  order 
ly  and  peaceful  of  village  taverns,  where  public  affairs  were 
talked  and  smoked  over.  In  fact,  it  was  in  this  very  build 
ing  that  Oloffe  the  Dreamer,  and  his  companions,  concerted  that 
great  voyage  of  discovery  and  colonization,  in  which  they  explor- 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND.  235 


ed  Buttermilk  Channel,  were  nearly  shipwrecked  in  the  strait  of 
Hell-gate,  and  finally  landed  on  the  island  of  Manhattan,  and 
founded  the  great  city  of  New- Amsterdam. 

Even  after  the  province  had  been  cruelly  wrested  from  the 
sway  of  their  High  Mightinesses,  by  the  combined  forces  of  the 
British  and  the  Yankees,  this  tavern  continued  its  ancient  loyalty. 
It  is  true,  the  head  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  disappeared  from  the 
sign,  a  strange  bird  being  painted  over  it,  with  the  explanatory 
legend  of  "  DIE  WILDE  G-ANS,"  or,  The  Wild  Goose;  but  this  all 
the  world  knew  to  be  a  sly  riddle  of  the  landlord,  the  worthy 
Teunis  Van  Gieson,  a  knowing  man,  in  a  small  way,  who  laid  his 
finger  beside  his  nose  and  winked,  when  any  one  studied  the  sig 
nification  of  his  sign,  and  observed  that  his  goose  was  hatching, 
but  would  join  the  flock  whenever  they  flew  over  the  water;  an 
enigma  which  was  the  perpetual  recreation  and  delight  of  the 
loyal  but  fat-headed  burghers  of  Communipaw. 

Under  the  sway  of  this  patriotic,  though  discreet  and  quiet 
publican,  the  tavern  continued  to  flourish  in  primeval  tranquil 
lity,  and  was  the  resort  of  true-hearted  Nederlanders,  from 
all  parts  of  Pavonia ;  who  met  here  quietly  and  secretly,  to 
smoke  and  drink  the  downfall  of  Briton  and  Yankee,  and  suc 
cess  to  Admiral  Van  Tromp. 

The  only  drawback  on  the  comfort  of  the  establishment,  was 
a  nephew  of  mine  host,  a  sister's  son,  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp 
by  name,  and  a  real  scamp  by  nature.  This  unlucky  whipster 
showed  an  early  propensity  to  mischief,  which  he  gratified  in  a 
small  way,  by  playing  tricks  upon  the  frequenters  of  the  Wild 
Goose ;  putting  gunpowder  in  their  pipes,  or  squibs  in  their 
pockets,  and  astonishing  them  with  an  explosion,  while  they  sat 


236  GUESTS  FEOM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


nodding  round  the  fireplace  in  the  bar-room ;  and  if  perchance  a 
worthy  burgher  from  some  distant  part  of  Pavonia  lingered  until 
dark  over  his  potation,  it  was  odds  but  young  Yanderscamp 
would  slip  a  brier  under  his  horse's  tail,  as  he  mounted,  and  send 
him  clattering  along  the  road,  in  neck-or-nothing  style,  to  the  in 
finite  astonishment  and  discomfiture  of  the  rider. 

It  may  be  wondered  at,  that  mine  host  of  the  Wild  Goose 
did  not  turn  such  a  graceless  varlet  out  of  doors  ;  but  Teunis 
Van  Gieson  was  an  easy-tempered  man,  and  having  no  child  of 
his  own,  looked  upon  his  nephew  with  almost  parental  indul 
gence.  His  patience  and  good  nature  were  doomed  to  be  tried 
by  another  inmate  of  his  mansion.  This  was  a  cross-grained 
curmudgeon  of  a  negro,  named  Pluto,  who  was  a  kind  of  enigma 
in  Communipaw.  Where  he  came  from,  nobody  knew.  He  was 
found  one  morning,  after  a  storm,  cast  like  a  sea-monster  on  the 
strand,  in  front  of  the  Wild  Goose,  and  lay  there,  more  dead  than 
alive.  The  neighbors  gathered  round,  and  speculated  on  this 
production  of  the  deep  ;  whether  it  were  fish  or  flesh,  or  a  com 
pound  of  both,  commonly  yclept  a  merman.  The  kind-hearted 
Teunis  Van  Gieson,  seeing  that  he  wore  the  human  form,  took 
him  into  his  house,  and  warmed  him  into  life.  By  degrees,  he 
showed  signs  of  intelligence,  and  even  uttered  sounds  very  much 
like  language,  but  which  no  one  in  Communipaw  could  under 
stand.  Some  thought  him  a  negro  just  from  Guinea,  who  had 
either  fallen  overboard,  or  escaped  from  a  slave-ship.  Nothing, 
however,  could  ever  draw  from  him  any  account  of  his  origin. 
When  questioned  on  the  subject,  he  merely  pointed  to  Gibbet- 
Island,  a  small  rocky  islet,  which  lies  in  the  open  bay,  just  oppo 
site  Communipaw,  as  if  that  were  his  native  place,  though 
every  body  knew  it  had  never  been  inhabited. 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND.  287 


In  the  process  of  time,  he  acquired  something  of  the  Dutch 
language,  that  is  to  say,  he  learnt  all  its  vocabulary  of  oaths  and 
maledictions,  with  just  words  sufficient  to  string  them  together. 
"  Donder  en  blicksem  ! "  (thunder  and  lightning),  was  the  gen 
tlest  of  his  ejaculations.  For  years  he  kept  about  the  Wild 
Goose,  more  like  one  of  those  familiar  spirits,  or  household  gob 
lins,  we  read  of,  than  like  a  human  being.  He  acknowledged 
allegiance  to  no  one,  but  performed  various  domestic  offices? 
when  it  suited  his  humor ;  waiting  occasionally  on  the  guests  ; 
grooming  the  horses,  cutting  wood,  drawing  water;  and  all 
this  without  being  ordered.  Lay  any  command  on  him,  and 
the  stubborn  sea  urchin  was  sure  to  rebel.  He  was  never  so 
much  at  home,  however,  as  when  on  the  water,  plying  about  in 
skiff  or  canoe,  entirely  alone,  fishing,  crabbing,  or  grabbing  for 
oysters,  and  would  bring  home  quantities  for  the  larder  of  the 
Wild  Goose,  which  he  would  throw  down  at  the  kitchen  door, 
with  a  growl.  No  wind  nor  weather  deterred  him  from  launch 
ing  forth  on  his  favorite  element :  indeed,  the  wilder  the  weather, 
the  more  he  seemed  to  enjoy  it.  If  a  storm  was  brewing,  he 
was  sure  to  put  off  from  shore ;  and  would  be  seen  far  out  in 
the  bay,  his  light  skiff  dancing  like  a  feather  on  the  waves,  when 
sea  and  sky  were  in  a  turmoil,  and  the  stoutest  ships  were  fain 
to  lower  their  sails.  Sometimes  on  such  occasions  he  would 
be  absent  for  days  together.  How  he  weathered  the  tempest, 
and  how  and  where  he  subsisted,  no  one  could  divine,  nor  did 
any  one  venture  to  ask,  for  all  had  an  almost  superstitious 
awe  of  him.  Some  of  the  Communipaw  oystermen  declared 
they  had  more  than  once  seen  him  suddenly  disappear,  canoe  and 
all,  as  if  plunged  beneath  the  waves,  and  after  a  while  come  up 


238  GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


again,  in  quite  a  different  part  of  the  bay ;  whence  they  con 
cluded  that  he  could  live  under  water  like  that  notable  species 
of  wild  duck,  commonly  called  the  hell- diver.  All  began  to 
consider  him  in  the  light  of  a  foul-weather  bird,  like  the  Mother 
Carey's  Chicken,  or  stormy  petrel ;  and  whenever  they  saw  him 
putting  far  out  in  his  skiff,  in  cloudy  weather,  made  up  their 
minds  for  a  storm. 

The  only  being  for  whom  he  seemed  to  have  any  liking,  was 
Yan  Yost  Yanderscamp,  and  him  he  liked  for  his  very  wicked 
ness.  He  in  a  manner  took  the  boy  under  his  tutelage,  prompt 
ed  him  to  all  kinds  of  mischief,  aided  him  in  every  wild  harum- 
scarum  freak,  until  the  lad  became  the  complete  scape-grace  of 
the  village ;  a  pest  to  his  uncle,  and  to  every  one  else.  Nor 
were  his  pranks  confined  to  the  land  ;  he  soon  learned  to  accom 
pany  old  Pluto  on  the  water.  Together  these  worthies  would 
cruise  about  the  broad  bay,  and  all  the  neighboring  straits  and 
rivers  ;  poking  around  in  skiffs  and  canoes ;  robbing  the  set  nets 
of  the  fishermen ;  landing  on  remote  coasts,  and  laying  waste 
orchards  and  water-melon  patches ;  in  short,  carrying  on  a  com 
plete  system  of  piracy,  on  a  small  scale.  Piloted  by  Pluto,  the 
youthful  Yanderscamp  soon  became  acquainted  with  all  the 
bays,  rivers,  creeks,  and  inlets  of  the  watery  world  around  him  ; 
could  navigate  from  the  Hook  to  Spiting-devil  on  the  darkest 
night,  and  learned  to  set  even  the  terrors  of  Hell-gate  at  defiance. 

At  length,  negro  and  boy  suddenly  disappeared,  and  days 
and  weeks  elapsed,  but  without  tidings  of  them.  Some  said 
they  must  have  run  away  and  gone  to  sea ;  others  jocosely  hint 
ed,  that  old  Pluto,  being  no  other  than  his  namesake  in  dis 
guise,  had  spirited  away  the  boy  to  the  nether  regions.  All, 


GUESTS  FEOM  GIBBE1 -ISLAND.  239 


however,  agreed  in  one  thing,  that  the  village  was  well  rid  of 
them. 

In  the  process  of  time,  the  good  Teunis  Van  Gieson  slept 
with  his  fathers,  and  the  tavern  remained  shut  up,  waiting  for  a 
claimant,  for  the  next  heir  was  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp.  and  he 
had  not  been  heard  of  for  years.  At  length,  one  day,  a  boat 
was  seen  pulling  for  shore,  from  a  long,  black,  rakish-looking 
schooner,  that  lay  at  anchor  in  the  bay.  The  boat's  crew  seemed 
worthy  of  the  craft  from  which  they  debarked.  Never  had  such 
a  set  of  noisy,  roistering,  swaggering  varlets  landed  in  peaceful 
Communipaw.  They  were  outlandish  in  garb  and  demeanor, 
and  were  headed  by  a  rough,  burly,  bully  ruffian,  with  fiery  whis 
kers,  a  copper  nose,  a  scar  across  his  face,  and  a  great  Flaun- 
derish  beaver  slouched  on  one  side  of  his  head,  in  whom,  to  their 
dismay,  the  quiet  inhabitants  were  made  to  recognise  their  early 
pest,  Yan  Yost  Vanderscamp.  The  rear  of  this  hopeful  gang 
was  brought  up  by  old  Pluto,  who  had  lost  an  eye,  grown  grizzly- 
headed,  and  looked  more  like  a  devil  than  ever.  Vanderscamp 
renewed  his  acquaintance  with  the  old  burghers,  much  against 
their  will,  and  in  a  manner  not  at  all  to  their  taste.  He  slapped 
them  familiarly  on  the  back,  gave  them  an  iron  grip  of  the  hand, 
and  was  hail  fellow  well  met.  According  to  his  own  account, 
he  had  been  all  the  world  over  ;  had  made  money  by  bags  full ; 
had  ships  in  every  sea,  and  now  meant  to  turn  the  Wild  Goose 
into  a  country-seat,  where  he  and  his  comrades,  all  rich  mer 
chants  from  foreign  parts,  might  enjoy  themselves  in  the  interval 
of  their  voyages. 

Sure  enough,  in  a  little  while  there  was  a  complete  metamor 
phose  of  the  Wild  Goose.  From  being  a  quiet,  peaceful  Dutch 


240  GUESTS  FEOM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


public  house,  it  became  a  most  riotous,  uproarious  private  dwell 
ing  ;  a  complete  rendezvous  for  boisterous  men  of  the  seas,  who 
came  here  to  have  what  they  called  a  "blow  out"  on  dry  land, 
and  might  be  seen  at  all  hours,  lounging  about  the  door,  or  loll 
ing  out  of  the  windows  ;  swearing  among  themselves,  and  crack 
ing  rough  jokes  on  every  passer  by.  The  house  was  fitted  up 
too,  in  so  strange  a  manner  :  hammocks  slung  to  the  walls,  in 
stead  of  bedsteads ;  odd  kinds  of  furniture,  of  foreign  fashion  ; 
bamboo  couches,  Spanish  chairs ;  pistols,  cutlasses,  and  blunder 
busses,  suspended  on  every  peg  ;  silver  crucifixes  on  the  mantel 
pieces,  silver  candlesticks  and  porringers  on  the  tables,  contrast 
ing  oddly  with  the  pewter  and  Delf  ware  of  the  original  estab 
lishment.  And  then  the  strange  amusements  of  these  sea-mon 
sters  !  Pitching  Spanish  dollars,  instead  of  quoits  ;  firing  blun 
derbusses  out  of  the  window ;  shooting  at  a  mark,  or  at  any  un 
happy  dog,  or  cat,  or  pig,  or  barn-door  fowl,  that  might  happen 
to  come  within  reach. 

The  only  being  who  seemed  to  relish  their  rough  waggery, 
was  old  Pluto  ;  and  yet  he  led  but  a  dog's  life  of  it ;  for  they 
practised  all  kinds  of  manual  jokes  upon  him  ;  kicked  him  about 
like  a  football ;  shook  him  by  his  grizzly  mop  of  wool,  and  never 
spoke  to  him  without  coupling  a  curse  by  way  of  adjective  to  his 
name,  and  consigning  him  to  the  infernal  regions.  The  old  fel 
low,  however,  seemed  to  like  them  the  better,  the  more  they 
cursed  him,  though  his  utmost  expression  of  pleasure  never 
amounted  to  more  than  the  growl  of  a  petted  bear,  when  his  ears 
are  rubbed. 

Old  Pluto  was  the  ministering  spirit  at  the  orgies  of  the 
Wild  G-oose  ;  and  such  orgies  as  took  place  there  !  Such  drink- 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND.  241 


ing,  singing,  whooping,  swearing ;  with  an  occasional  interlude 
of  quarrelling  and  fighting.  The  noisier  grew  the  revel,  the 
more  old  Pluto  plied  the  potations,  until  the  guests  would  be 
come  frantic  in  their  merriment,  smashing  every  thing  to  pieces, 
and  throwing  the  house  out  of  the  windows.  Sometimes,  after  a 
drinking  bout,  they  sallied  forth  and  scoured  the  village,  to  the 
dismay  of  the  worthy  burghers,  who  gathered  their  women  with 
in  doors,  and  would  have  shut  up  the  house.  Vanderscamp, 
however,  was  not  to  be  rebuffed.  He  insisted  on  renewing  ac 
quaintance  with  his  old  neighbors,  and  on  introducing  his  friends, 
the  merchants,  to  their  families ;  swore  he  was  on  the  look-out 
for  a  wife,  and  meant,  before  he  stopped,  to  find  husbands  for  all 
their  daughters.  So,  will-ye,  nill-ye,  sociable  he  was ;  swaggered 
about  their  best  parlors,  with  his  hat  on  one  side  of  his  head ; 
sat  on  the  good  wife's  nicely-waxed  mahogany  table,  kicking  his 
heels  against  the  carved  and  polished  legs  ;  kissed  and  tousled 
the  young  vrouws ;  and,  if  they  frowned  and  pouted,  gave  them 
a  gold  rosary,  or  a  sparkling  cross,  to  put  them  in  good  humor 
again. 

Sometimes  nothing  would  satisfy  him,  but  he  must  have 
some  of  his  old  neighbors  to  dinner  at  the  Wild  Groose.  There 
was  no  refusing  him,  for  he  had  the  complete  upper  hand  of 
the  community,  and  the  peaceful  burghers  all  stood  "in  awe  of 
him.  But  what  a  time  would  the  quiet,  worthy  men  have, 
among  these  rake-hells,  who  would  delight  to  astound  them  with 
the  most  extravagant  gunpowder  tales,  embroidered  with  all 
kinds  of  foreign  oaths ;  clink  the  can  with  them  ;  pledge  them  in 
deep  potations  5  bawl  drinking  songs  in  their  ears  ;  and  occa 
sionally  fire  pistols  over  their  heads,  or  under  the  table,  and  then 
11 


242  GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


laugh  in  their  faces,  and  ask  them  how  they  liked  the  smell  of 
gunpowder. 

Thus  was  the  little  village  of  Communipaw  for  a  time  like 
the  unfortunate  wight  possessed  with  devils  ;  until  Vanderscamp 
and  his  brother  merchants  would  sail  on  another  trading  voyage, 
when  the  Wild  Goose  would  be  shut  up,  and  every  thing  relapse 
into  quiet,  only  to  be  disturbed  by  his  next  visitation. 

The  mystery  of  all  these  proceedings  gradually  dawned  upon 
the  tardy  intellects  of  Communipaw.  These  were  the  times  of 
the  notorious  Captain  Kidd,  when  the  American  harbors  were 
the  resorts  of  piratical  adventurers  of  all  kinds,  who,  under  pre 
text  of  mercantile  voyages,  scoured  the  West  Indies,  made  plun 
dering  descents  upon  the  Spanish  Main,  visited  even  the  remote 
Indian  Seas,  and  then  came  to  dispose  of  their  booty,  have  their 
revels,  and  fit  out  new  expeditions,  in  the  English  colonies. 

Yanderscamp  had  served  in  this  hopeful  school,  and  having 
risen  to  importance  among  the  buccaneers,  had  pitched  upon  his 
native  village  and  early  home,  as  a  quiet,  out-of-the  way,  unsus 
pected  place,  where  he  and  his  comrades,  while  anchored  at  New 
York,  might  have  their  feasts,  and  concert  their  plans,  without 
molestation. 

At  length  the  attention  of  the  British  government  was  called 
to  these  piratical  enterprises,  that  were  becoming  so  frequent 
and  outrageous.  Vigorous  measures  were  taken  to  check  and 
punish  them.  Several  of  the  most  noted  freebooters  were  caught 
and  executed,  and  three  of  Vanderscamp's  chosen  comrades,  the 
most  riotous  swashbucklers  of  the  Wild  Goose,  were  hanged  in 
chains  on  Gibbet-Island,  in  full  sight  of  their  favorite  resort. 
As  to  Vanderscamp  himself,  he  and  his  man  Pluto  again  disap- 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND.  243 


peared,  and  it  was  hoped  by  the  people  of  Communipaw  that  he 
had  fallen  in  some  foreign  brawl,  or  been  swung  on  some  foreign 
gallows. 

For  a  time,  therefore,  the  tranquillity  of  the  village  was  re 
stored  ;  the  worthy  Dutchmen  once  more  smoked  their  pipes  in 
peace,  eyeing,  with  peculiar  complacency,  their  old  pests  and  ter 
rors,  the  pirates,  dangling  and  drying  in  the  sun,  on  Gibbet- 
Island. 

4ji  This  perfect  calm  was  doomed  at  length  to  be  ruffled.  The 
fiery  persecution  of  the  pirates  gradually  subsided.  Justice  was 
satisfied  with  the  examples  that  had  been  made,  and  there  was  no 
more  talk  of  Kidd,  and  the  other  heroes  of  like  kidney.  On  a 
calm  summer  evening,  a  boat,  somewhat  heavily  laden,  was  seen 
pulling  into  Communipaw.  What  was  the  surprise  and  disquiet 
of  the  inhabitants,  to  see  Yan  Yost  Vanderscarnp  seated  at  the 
helm,  and  his  man  Pluto  tugging  at  the  oar  !  Vanderscamp, 
however,  was  apparently  an  altered  man.  He  brought  home  with 
him  a  wife,  who  seemed  to  be  a  shrew,  and  to  have  the  upper 
hand  of  him.  He  no  longer  was  the  swaggering,  bully  ruffian,  but 
affected  tjie  regular  merchant,  and  talked  of  retiring  from  business, 
and  settling  down  quietly,  to  pass  the  rest  of  his  days  in  his  na 
tive  place. 

The  Wild  Goose  mansion  was  again  opened,  but  with  dimin 
ished  splendor,  and  no  riot.  It  is  true,  Vanderscamp  had  frequent 
nautical  visitors,  and  the  sound  of  revelry  was  occasionally  over 
heard  in  his  house ;  but  every  thing  seemed  to  be  done  under  the 
rose ;  and  old  Pluto  was  the  only  servant  that  officiated  at  these 
orgies.  The  visitors,  indeed,  were  by  no  means  of  the  turbulent 
stamp  of  their  predecessors ;  but  quiet,  mysterious  traders,  full 


244  GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


of  nods,  and  winks,  and  hieroglyphic  signs,  with  whom,  to  use  their 
cant  phrase,  "  every  thing  was  smug."  Their  ships  came  to  an 
chor  at  night,  in  the  lower  bay ;  and,  on  a  private  signal,  Yander- 
scamp  would  launch  his  boat,  and  accompanied  solely  by  his  man 
Pluto,  would  make  them  mysterious  visits.  Sometimes  boats 
pulled  in  at  night,  in  front  of  the  Wild  Goose,  and  various  articles 
of  merchandise  were  landed  in  the  dark,  and  spirited  away,  no 
body  knew  whither.  One  of  the  more  curious  of  the  inhabitants  kept 
watch,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  features  of  some  of  these  night 
visitors,  by  the  casual  glance  of  a  lantern,  and  declared  that  he 
recognized  more  than  one  of  the  freebooting  frequenters  of  the 
Wild  Goose,  in  former  times ;  whence  he  concluded  that  Yan- 
derscamp  was  at  his  old  game,  and  that  this  mysterious  mer 
chandise  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  piratical  plunder.  The 
more  charitable  opinion,  however,  was,  that  Yanderscamp  and  his 
comrades,  having  been  driven  from  their  old  line  of  business,  by 
the  "  oppressions  of  government,"  had  resorted  to  smuggling  to 
make  both  ends  meet. 

Be  that  as  it  may:  I  come  now  to  the  extraordinary  fact, 
which  is  the  butt-end  of  this  story.  It  happened  late  pne  night, 
that  Yan  Yost  Yanderscamp  was  returning  across  the  broad  bay, 
in  his  light  skiff,  rowed  by  his  man  Pluto.  He  had  been  carous 
ing  on  board  of  a  vessel,  newly  arrived,  and  was  somewhat  obfus 
cated  in  intellect,  by  the  liquor  he  had  imbibed.  It  was  a  still, 
sultry  night ;  a  heavy  mass  of  lurid  clouds  was  rising  in  the  west, 
with  the  low  muttering  of  distant  thunder.  Yanderscamp  called 
on  Pluto  to  pull  lustily,  that  they  might  get  home  before  the 
gathering  storm.  The  old  negro  made  no  reply,  but  shaped  his 
course  so  as  to  skirt  the  rocky  shores  of  Gribbet-Island.  A  fault 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND.  245 


creaking  overhead  caused  Vanderscamp  to  cast  up  his  eyes,  when 
to  his  horror,  he  beheld  the  bodies  of  his  three  pot  companions 
and  brothers  in  iniquity  dangling  in  the  moonlight,  their  rags 
fluttering,  and  their  chains  creaking,  as  they  were  slowly  swung 
backward  and  forward  by  the  rising  breeze. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  you  blockhead !  "  cried  Yanderscamp, 
"  by  pulling  so  close  to  the  island  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you'd  be  glad  to  see  your  old  friends  once  more," 
growled  the  negro :  "  you  were  never  afraid  of  a  living  man,  what 
do  you  fear  from  the  dead  ?  " 

"  Who's  afraid  ?  "  hiccupped  Vanderscamp,  partly  heated  by 
liquor,  partly  nettled  by  the  jeer  of  the  negro ;  "  who's  afraid  ! 
Hang  me,  but  I  would  be  glad  to  see  them  once  more,  alive  or 
dead,  at  the  Wild  G-oose.  Come,  my  lads  in  the  wind !  "  contin 
ued  he,  taking  a  draught,  and  flourishing  the  bottle  above  his 
head,  "  here's  fair  weather  to  you  in  the  other  world ;  and  if  you 
should  be  walking  the  rounds  to-night,  odds  fish !  but  I'll  be  happy 
if  you  will  drop  in  to  supper." 

A  dismal  creaking  was  the  only  reply.  The  wind  blew  loud 
and  shrill,  and  as  it  whistled  round  the  gallows,  and  among  the 
bones,  sounded  as  if  they  were  laughing  and  gibbering  in  the  air. 
Old  Pluto  chuckled  to  himself,  and  now  pulled  for  home.  The 
storm  burst  over  the  voyagers,  while  they  were  yet  far  from  shore. 
The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  the  thunder  crashed  and  pealed,  and  the 
lightning  kept  up  an  incessant  blaze.  It  was  stark  midnight  be 
fore  they  landed  at  Communipaw.  * 

Dripping  and  shivering,  Vanderscamp  crawled  homeward.  H 
was  completely  sobered   by  the  storm ;    the  water  soaked   from 
without,  having  diluted  and  cooled  the  liquor  within.     Arrivod 


246  GUESTS  FEOM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


at  the  Wild  Goose,  lie  knocked  timidly  and  dubiously  at  the  door 
for  he  dreaded  the  reception  he  was  to  experience  from  his  wife. 
He  had  reason  to  do  so.  She  met  him  at  the  threshold,  in  a 
precious  ill-humor. 

"  Is  this  a  time,"  said  she,  "  to  keep  people  out  of  their  beds, 
and  to  bring  home  company,  to  turn  the  house  upside  down  ?  " 

"Company?"  said  Yanderscamp,  meekly;  "I  have  brought 
no  company  with  me,  wife." 

"  No  indeed  !  they  have  got  here  before  you,  but  by  your  in 
vitation  ;  and  blessed-looking  company  they  are,  truly !  " 

Vanderscamp's  knees  smote  together.  "  For  the  love  of 
heaven,  where  are  they,  wife  ?  " 

"  Where? — -why  in  the  blue  room  up  stairs,  making  themselves 
as  much  at  home  as  if  the  house  were  their  own." 

Vanderscamp  made  a  desperate  effort,  scrambled  up  to  the 
room,  and  threw  open  the  door.  Sure  enough,  there  at  a  table, 
on  which  burned  a  light  as  blue  as  brimstone,  sat  the  three  guests 
from  Gibbet-Island,  with  halters  round  their  .necks,  and  bobbing 
their  cups  together,  as  if  they  were  hob-or-nobbing,  and  trolling 
the  old  Dutch  freebooter's  glee,  since  translated  into  English : 

"  For  three  merry  lads  be  we, 
And  three  merry  lads  be  \ve; 
I  on  the  land,  and  them  on  the  sand, 
And  Jack  on  the  gallows-tree." 

Yanderscamp  saw  and  heard  no  more.  Starting  back  with 
horror,  he  missed  his  footing  on  the  landing  place,  and  fell  from 
the  top  of  the  stairs  to  the  bottom.  He  was  taken  up  speechless, 
and,  either  from  the  fall  or  the  fright,  was  buried  in  the  yard  of 
the  little  Dutch  church  at  Bergen,  on  the  following  Sunday. 


GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-TSLAND.  247 


"From  that  day  forward,  the  fate  of  the  Wild  Goose  was  seal 
ed.  It  was  pronounced  a  haunted  house,  and  avoided  according 
ly.  No  one  inhabited  it  but  Vanderscamp's  shrew  of  a  widow,  and 
old  Pluto,  and  they  were  considered  but  little  better  than  its  hob 
goblin  visitors.  Pluto  grew  more  and  more  haggard  and  mo 
rose,  and  looked  more  like  an  imp  of  darkness  than  a  human  being. 
He  spoke  to  no  one,  but  went  about  muttering  to  himself;  or,  as 
some  hinted,  talking  with  the  devil,  who,  though  unseen,  was  ever 
at  his  elbow.  Now  and  then  he  was  seen  pulling  about  the  bay 
alone,  in  his  skiff,  in  dark  weather,  or  at  the  approach  of  night 
fall  ;  nobody  could  tell  why,  unless  on  an  errand  to  invite  more 
guests  from  the  gallows.  Indeed  it  was  affirmed  that  the  Wild 
Goose  still  continued  to  be  a  house  of  entertainment  for  such 
guests,  and  that  on  stormy  nights,  the  blue  chamber  was  occasion 
ally  illuminated,  and  sounds  of  diabolical  merriment  were  over 
heard,  mingling  with  the  howling  of  the  tempest.  Some  treat 
ed  these  as  idle  stories,  until  on  one  such  night,  it  was  about 
the  time  of  the  equinox,  there  was  a  horrible  uproar  in  the  Wild 
Goose,  that  could  not  be  mistaken.  It  was  not  so  much  the 
sound  of  revelry,  however,  as  strife,  with  two  or  three  piercing 
shrieks,  that  pervaded  every  part  of  the  village.  Nevertheless,  no 
one  thought  of  hastening  to  the  spot.  On  the  contrary,  the  honest 
burghers  of  Communipaw  drew  their  nightcaps  over  their  ears, 
and  buried  their  heads  under  the  bed-clothes,  at  the  thoughts  of 
Vanderscamp  and  his  gallows  companions. 

The  next  morning,  some  of  the  bolder  and  more  curious  un 
dertook  to  reconnoitre.  All  was  quiet  and  lifeless  at  the  Wild 
Goose.  The  door  yawned  wide  open,  and  had  evidently  been  open 
all  night,  for  the  storm  had  beaten  into  the  house.  Gathering 


248  GUESTS  FROM  GIBBET-ISLAND. 


more  courage  from  the  silence  and  apparent  desertion,  they  gradu 
ally  ventured  over  the  threshold.  The  house  had  indeed  the  air 
of  having  been  possessed  by  devils.  Every  thing  was  topsy-turvy  j 
trunks  had  been  broken  open,  and  chests  of  drawers  and  corner  cup 
boards  turned  inside  out,  as  in  a  time  of  general  sack  and  pillage ; 
but  the  most  woeful  sight  was  the  widow  of  Yan  Yost  Vander- 
scamp,  extended  a  corpse  on  the  floor  of  the  blue  chamber, 
with  the  marks  of  a  deadly  gripe  on  the  windpipe. 

All  now  was  conjecture  and  dismay  at  Communipaw;  and  the 
disappearance  of  old  Pluto,  who  was  nowhere  to  be  found,  gave 
rise  to  all  kinds  of  wild  surmises.  Some  suggested  that  the  ne 
gro  had  betrayed  the  house  to  some  of  Vanderscamp's  buccaneering 
associates,  and  that  they  had  decamped  together  with  the  booty  j 
others  surmised  that  the  negro  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than 
a  devil  incarnate,  who  had  now  accomplished  his  ends,  and  made 
off  with  his  dues. 

Events,  however,  vindicated  the  negro  from  this  last  imputa 
tion.  His  skiff  was  picked  up,  drifting  about  the  bay,  bottom  up 
ward,  as  if  wrecked  in  a  tempest  ;  and  his  body  was  found,  shortly 
afterward,  by  some  Communipaw  fishermen,  stranded  among  the 
rocks  of  Gibbet-Island,  near  the  foot  of  the  pirates'  gallows.  The 
fishermen  shook  their  heads,  and  observed  that  old  Pluto  had 
ventured  once  too  often  to  invite  Guests  from  Gibbet-Island. 


THE  EARLY  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RfflGWOOD. 

NOTED   DOWN  FROM  HIS  CONVERSATIONS: 
BY  GEOFFREY  CRAYON,  GENT.* 

"  I  AM  a  Kentuckian  by  residence  and  choice,  but  a  Virginian  by 
birth.  The  cause  of  my  first  leaving  the  '  Ancient  Dominion,' 
and  emigrating  to  Kentucky,  was  a  jackass  !  You  stare,  but 
have  a  little  patience,  and  I'll  soon  show  you  how  it  came  to  pass. 
My  father,  who  was  of  one  of  the  old  Virginian  families,  resided  in 
Richmond.  He  was  a  widower,  and  his  domestic  affairs  were 
managed  by  a  housekeeper  of  the  old  school,  such  as  used  to  ad 
minister  the  concerns  of  opulent  Virginian  households.  She  was 
a  dignitary  that  almost  rivalled  my  father  in  importance,  and 
seemed  to  think  every  thing  belonged  to  her ;  in  fact  she  was  so 
considerate  in  her  economy,  and  so  careful  of  expense,  as  some 
times  to  vex  my  father ;  who  would  swear  she  was  disgracing 

*  Ralph  Ringwood,  though  a  fictitious  name,  is  a  real  personage — the 
late  Governor  Duval  of  Florida.  I  have  given  some  anecdotes  of  his  early 
and  eccentric  career  in,  as  nearly  as  I  can  recollect,  the  very  words  in 
which  he  related  them.  They  certainly  afford  strong  temptations  to  the 
embellishments  of  fiction;  but  I  thought  them  so  strikingly  characteristic 
of  the  individual,  and  of  the  scenes  and  society  into  which  his  peculiar 
humors  carried  him,  that  I  preferred  giving  them  in  their  original  sim 
plicity.  G.  C. 
11* 


250  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


him  by  her  meanness.  She  always  apppeared  with  that  an 
cient  insignia  of  housekeeping  trust  and  authority,  a  great  bunch 
of  keys  jingling  at  her  girdle.  She  superintended  the  arrange 
ments  of  the  table  at  every  meal,  and  saw  that  the  dishes  were  all 
placed  according  to  her  primitive  notions  of  symmetry.  In  the 
evening  she  took  her  stand  and  served  out  tea  with  a  mingled  re 
spectfulness  and  pride  of  station,  truly  exemplary.  Her  great 
ambition  was  to  have  every  thing  in  order,  and  that  the  establish 
ment  under  her  sway  should  be  cited  as  a  model  of  good  house 
keeping.  If  any  thing  went  wrong,  poor  old  Barbara  would  take 
it  to  heart,  and  sit  in  her  room  and  cry ;  until  a  few  chapters  in 
the  Bible  would  quiet  her  spirits,  and  make  all  calm  again.  The 
Bible,  in  fact,  was  her  constant  resort  in  time  of  trouble.  She 
opened  it  indiscriminately,  and  whether  she  chanced  among  the 
Lamentations  of  Jeremiah,  the  Canticles  of  Solomon,  or  the 
rough  enumeration  of  the  tribes  in  Deuteronomy,  a  chapter  was 
a  chapter,  and  operated  like  balm  to  her  soul.  Such  was  our 
good  old  housekeeper  Barbara ;  who  was  destined,  unwittingly, 
to  have  a  most  important  effect  upon  my  destiny. 

"  It  came  to  pass,  during  the  days  of  my  juvenility,  while  I 
was  yet  what  is  termed  '  an  unlucky  boy,'  that  a  gentleman  of  our 
neighborhood,  a  great  advocate  for  experiments  and  improvements 
of  all  kinds,  took  it  into  his  head  that  it  would  be  an  immense 
public  advantage  to  introduce  a  breed  of  mules,  and  accordingly 
imported  three  jacks  to  stock  the  neighborhood.  This  in  a 
part  of  the  country  where  the  people  cared  for  nothing  but 
blood  horses !  Why,  sir !  they  would  have  considered  their 
mares  disgraced,  and  their  whole  stud  dishonored,  by  such  a  mis 
alliance.  The  whole  matter  was  a  town-talk,  and  a  town  scandal. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  251 


The  worthy  amalgamator  of  quadrupeds  found  himself  in  a  dis- 
nial  scrape ;  so  he  backed  out  in  time,  abjured  the  whole  doctrine 
of  amalgamation,  and  turned  his  jacks  loose  to  shift  for  themselves 
upon  the  town  common.  There  they  used  to  run  about  and  lead 
an  idle,  good-for-nothing,  holiday  life,  the  happiest  animals  in  the 
country. 

"  It  so  happened,  that*  my  way  to  school  lay  across  the  com 
mon.  The  first  time  that  I  saw  one  of  these  animals,  it  set  up  a 
braying  and  frightened  me  confoundedly.  However,  I  soon  got 
over  my  fright,  and  seeing  that  it  had  something  of  a  horse  look, 
my  Yirginian  love  for  any  thing  of  the  equestrian  species  predom 
inated,  and  I  determined  to  back  it.  I  accordingly  applied  at  a 
grocer's  shop,  procured  a  cord  that  had  been  round  a  loaf  of  sugar, 
and  made  a  kind  of  halter ;  then  summoning  some  of  my  school 
fellows,  we  drove  master  Jack  about  the  common  until  we  hemmed 
him  in  an  angle  of  a  c  worm  fence.'  After  some  difficulty,  we 
fixed  the  halter  round  his  muzzle,  and  I  mounted.  Up  flew  his 
heels,  away  I  went  over  his  head,  and  off  he  scampered.  How 
ever,  I  was  on  my  legs  in  a  twinkling,  gave  chase,  caught  him, 
and  remounted.  By  dint  of  repeated  tumbles  I  soon  learned 
to  stick  to  his  back,  so  that  he  could  no  more  cast  me  than  he 
could  his  own  skin.  From  that  time,  master  Jack  and  his  com 
panions  had  a  scampering  life  of  it,  for  we  all  rode  them  between 
school  hours,  and  on  holiday  afternoons;  and  you  may  be  sure 
school-boys'  nags  are  never  permitted  to  suffer  the  grass  to  grow 
under  their  feet.  They  soon  became  so  knowing,  that  they 
took  to  their  heels  at  sight  of  a  school-boy ;  and  we  were  generally 
much  longer  in  chasing  than  we  were  in  riding  them. 

"  Sunday  approached,  on  which  I  projected  an  equestrian  ex- 


252  EXPEKIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


cursion  on  one  of  these  long-eared  steeds.  As  I  knew  the  jacks 
would  be  in  great  demand  on  Sunday  morning,  I  secured  one 
over  night,  and  conducted  him  home,  to  be  ready  for  an  early 
outset.  But  where  was  I  to  quarter  him  for  the  night  ?  I  could  not 
put  him  in  the  stable  ;  our  old  black  groom  George  was  as  absolute 
in  that  domain  as  Barbara  was  within  doors,  and  would  have  thought 
his  stable,  his  horses,  and  himself  disgraced,  by  the  introduc 
tion  of  a  jackass.  I  recollected  the  smoke-house ;  an  out-building 
appended  to  all  Virginian  establishments  for  the  smoking  of  hams, 
and  other  kinds  of  meat.  So  I  got  the  key,  put  master  Jack  in, 
locked  the  door,  returned  the  key  to  its  place,  and  went  to  bed, 
intending  to  release  my  prisoner  at  an  early  hour,  before  any  of 
the  family  were  awake.  I  was  so  tired,  however,  by  the  exertions 
I  had  made  in  catching  the  donkey,  that  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep, 
and  the  morning  broke  without  my  waking. 

"  Not  so  with  dame  Barbara,  the  housekeeper.  As  usual,  to 
use  her  own  phrase, l  she  was  up  before  the  crow  put  his  shoes  on,' 
and  bustled  about  to  get  things  in  order  for  breakfast.  Her  first 
resort  was  to  the  smoke-house.  Scarce  had  she  opened  the  door, 
when  master  Jack,  tired  of  his  confinement,  and  glad  to  be  released 
from  darkness,  gave  a  loud  bray,  and  rushed  forth.  Down  drop 
ped  old  Barbara ;  the  animal  trampled  over  her,  and  made  off  for 
the  common.  Poor  Barbara!  She  had  never  before  seen  a  don 
key,  and  having  read  in  the  Bible  that  the  Devil  went  about  like 
a  roaring  lion,  seeking  whom  he  might  devour,  she  took  it  for 
granted  that  this  was  Beelzebub  himself.  The  kitchen  was  soon 
in  a  hubbub ,  the  servants  hurried  to  the  spot.  There  lay  old 
Barbara  in  fits  ;  as  fast  as  she  got  out  of  one,  the  thoughts  of  the 
Devil  came  over  her,  and  she  fell  into  another,  for  the  good  soul 
was  devoutly  superstitious. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  253 


c*  As  ill  luck  would  have  it,  among  those  attracted  by  the 
noise,  wi\s  a  little  cursed  fidgetty,  crabbed  uncle  of  mine ;  one  of 
tho«e  uneasy  spirits  that  cannot  rest  quietly  in  their  beds  in  the 
morning,  but  must  be  up  early,  to  bother  the  household.  He  was 
only  a  kind  of  half  uncle,  after  all,  for  he  had  married  my  father's 
sister :  yet  he  assumed  great  authority  on  the  strength  of  this  left- 
handed  relationship,  and  was  a  universal  intermeddler,  and  family 
pest.  This  prying  little  busy-body  soon  ferreted  out  the  truth  of 
the  story,  and  discovered,  by  hook  and  by  crook,  that  I  was  at 
the  bottom  of  the  affair,  and  had  locked  up  the  donkey  in  the 
smoke-house.  He  stopped  to  inquire  no  farther,  for  he  was  one  of 
those  testy  curmudgeons,  with  whom  unlucky  boys  are  always  in 
the  wrong.  Leaving  old  Barbara  to  wrestle  in  imagination  with 
the  Devil,  he  made  for  my  bed-chamber,  where  I  still  lay  wrap 
ped  in  rosy  slumbers,  little  dreaming  of  the  mischief  I  had  done, 
and  the  storm  about  to  break  over  me. 

"  In  an  instant,  I  was  awakened  by  a  shower  of  thwacks,  and 
started  up  in  wild  amazement.  I  demanded  the  meaning  of  this 
attack,  but  received  no  other  reply  than  that  I  had  murdered  the 
housekeeper ;  while  my  uncle  continued  whacking  away  during  my 
confusion.  I  seized  a  poker,  and  put  myself  on  the  defensive.  I 
was  a  stout  boy  for  my  years,  while  my  uncle  was  a  little  wiffet  of 
a  man ;  one  that  in  Kentucky  we  would  not  call  even  an  '  individ 
ual  ; '  nothing  more  than  a  *  remote  circumstance.'  I  soon, 
therefore,  brought  him  to  a  parley,  and  learned  the  whole  extent 
of  the  charge  brought  against  me.  I  confessed  to  the  donkey  and 
the  smoke-house,  but  pleaded  not  guilty  of  the  murder  of  the  house 
keeper.  I  soon  found  out  that  old  Barbara  was  still  alive.  She 
continued  under  the  doctor's  hands,  however,  for  several  days; 


254  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


and  whenever  she  had  an  ill  turn,  my  uncle  would  seek  to  give  me 
another  flogging.  I  appealed  to  my  father,  but  got  no  redress.  I 
was  considered  an  <  unlucky  boy,'  prone  to  all  kinds  of  mischief; 
so  that  prepossessions  were  against  me,  in  all  cases  of  appeal. 

"  I  felt  stung  to  the  soul  at  all  this.  I  had  been  beaten,  de 
graded,  and  treated  with  slighting  when  I  complained.  I  lost  my 
usual  good  spirits  and  good  humor;  and,  being  out  of  temper  with 
every  body,  fancied  every  body  out  of  temper  with  me.  A  certain 
wild,  roving  spirit  of  freedom,  which  I  believe  is  as  inherent  in  me 
as  it  is  in  the  partridge,  was  brought  into  sudden  activity  by  the 
checks  and  restraints  I  suffered.  *  I'll  go  from  home,'  thought  I, 
'and  shift  for  myself.'  Perhaps  this  notion  was  quickened  by  the 
rage  for  emigrating  to  Kentucky,  which  was  at  that  time  pre 
valent,  in  Virginia.  I  had  heard  such  stories  of  the  romantic 
beauties  of  the  country ;  of  the  abundance  of  game  of  all  kinds, 
and  of  the  glorious  independent  life  of  the  hunters  who  ranged  its 
noble  forests,  and  lived  by  the  rifle,  that  I  was  as  much  agog  to 
get  there,  as  boys  who  live  in  sea-ports  are  to  launch  themselves 
among  the  wonders  and  adventures  of  the  ocean. 

"  After  a  time,  old  Barbara  got  better  in  mind  and  body,  and 
matters  were  explained  to  her ;  and  she  became  gradually  con 
vinced  that  it  was  not' the  Devil  she  had  encountered.  When  she 
heard  how  harshly  I  had  been  treated  on  her  account,  the  good 
old  soul  was  extremely  grieved,  and  spoke  warmly  to  my  father 
in  my  behalf.  He  had  himself  remarked  the  change  in  my  be- 
"havior,  and  thought  punishment  might  have  been  carried  too  far. 
He  sought,  therefore,  to  have  some  conversation  with  me,  and  to- 
soothe  my  feelings ;  but  it  was  too  late.  I  frankly  told  him  the 
course  of  mortification  that  I  had  experienced,  and  the  fixed  de 
termination  I  had  made  to  go  from  home. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  255 


"  ' And  where  do  you  mean  to  go  ? ' 

"  '  To  Kentucky.' 

"  '  To  Kentucky !     Why,  you  know  nobody  there.' 

"  c  No  matter  :  I  can  soon  make  acquaintances.' 

"  '  And  what  will  you  do  when  you  get  there  ? ' 

"  '  Hunt ! ' 

"  My  father  gave  a  long,  low  whistle,  and  looked  in  my  face 
with  a  serio-comic  expression.  I  was  not  far  in  my  teens,  and  to 
talk  of  setting  off  alone  for  Kentucky,  to  turn  hunter,  seemed 
doubtless  the  idle  prattle  of  a  boy.  He  was  little  aware  of  the 
dogged  resolution  of  my  character ;  and  his  smile  of  incredulity 
but  fixed  me  more  obstinately  in  my  purpose.  I  assured  him  I 
was  serious  in  what  I  said,  and  would  certainly  set  off  for  Ken 
tucky  in  the  spring. 

"  Month  after  month  passed  away.  My  father  now  and  then 
adverted  slightly  to  what  had  passed  between  us ;  doubtless  for 
the  purpose  of  sounding  me.  I  always  expressed  the  same  grave 
and  fixed  determination.  By  degrees  he  spoke  to  me  more  directly 
on  the  subject ;  endeavoring  earnestly  but  kindly  to  dissuade  me. 
My  only  reply  was,  '  I  had  made  up  my  mind.' 

"  Accordingly,  as  soon  as  the  spring  had  fairly  opened,  I 
sought  him  one  day  in  his  study,  and  informed  him  I  was  about 
to  set  out  for  Kentucky,  and  had  come  to  take  my  leave.  He 
made  no  objection,  for  he  had  exhausted  persuasion  and  remon 
strance,  and  doubtless  thought  it  best  to  give  way  to  my  humor, 
trusting  that  a  little  rough  experience  would  soon  bring  me  home 
again.  I  asked  money  for  my  journey.  He  went  to  a  chest,  took 
out  a  long  green  silk  purse,  well  filled,  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
I  now  asked  for  a  horse  and  servant. 


256  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


" '  A  horse  ! '  said  my  father,  sneeringly :  c  why,  you  would 
not  go  a  mile  without  racing  him,  and  breaking  your  neck ;  and 
as  to  a  servant,  you  cannot  take  care  of  yourself,  much  less  of  him.' 


"  '  How  am  I  to  travel,  then  ? ' 


"  *  Why,  I  suppose  you  are  man  enough  to  travel  on  foot.' 

"  He  spoke  jestingly,  little  thinking  I  would  take  him  at  his 
word  ;  but  I  was  thoroughly  piqued  in  respect  to  my  enterprise ; 
so  I  pocketed  the  purse ;  went  to  my  room,  tied  up  three  or  four 
shirts  in  a  pocket-handkerchief,  put  a  dirk  in  my  bosom,  girt  a 
couple  of  pistols  round  my  waist,  and  felt  like  a  knight-errant 
armed  cap-a-pie,  and  ready  to  rove  the  world  in  quest  of  ad 
ventures. 

"  My  sister  (I  had  but  one)  hung  round  me  and  wept,  and  en 
treated  me  to  stay.  I  felt  my  heart  swell  in  my  throat :  but  I 
gulped  it  back  to  its  place,  and  straightened  myself  up :  I  would 
not  suffer  myself  to  cry.  I  at  length  disengaged  myself  from  her, 
and  got  to  the  door. 

"  *  When  will  you  come  back  ?  '  cried  she. 

"  '  Never,  by  heavens  ! '  cried  I,  '  until  I  come  back  a  member 
of  Congress  from  Kentucky.  I  am  determined  to  show  that 
I  am  not  the  tail-end  of  the  family.' 

"  Such  was  my  first  outset  from  home.  You  may  suppose 
what  a  green-horn  I  was,  and  how  little  I  knew  of  the  world  I 
was  launching  into. 

"  I  do  not  recollect  any  incident  of  importance,  until  I  reached 
the  borders  of  Pennsylvania.  I  had  stopped  at  an  inn  to  get  some 
refreshment ;  as  I  was  eating  in  a  back-room,  I  overheard  two 
men  in  the  bar-room  conjecture  who  and  what  I  could  be.  Ono 
determined,  at  length,  that  I  was  a  runaway  apprentice,  and 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  257 


ought  to  be  stopped,  to  which  the  other  assented*  When  I  had 
finished  my  meal,  and  paid  for  it,  I  went  out  at  the  back  door, 
lest  I  should  be  stopped  by  my  supervisors.  Scorning,  however, 
to  steal  off  like  a  culprit,  I  walked  round  to  the  front  of  the  house. 
One  of  the  men  advanced  to  the  front  door.  He  wore  his  hat  on 
one  side,  and  had  a  consequential  air  that  nettled  me. 

"  '  Where  are  you  going,  youngster  ?  '  demanded  he. 

"  '  That's  none  of  your  business  !  '  replied  I,  rather  pertly. 

"  '  Yes,  but  it  is  though  !  You  have  run  away  from  home, 
and  must  give  an  account  of  yourself.' 

"  He  advanced  to  seize  me,  when  I  drew  forth  a  pistol.  clf 
you  advance  another  step,  I'll  shoot  you !  ' 

"  He  sprang  back  as  if  he  had  trodden  upon  a  rattlesnake,  and 
his  hat  fell  off  in  the  movement. 

"  '  Let  him  alone  ! '  cried  his  companion ;  '  he's  a  foolish, 
mad-headed  boy,  and  don't  know  what  he's  about.  He'll  shoot 
you,  you  may  rely  on  it.' 

"  He  did  not  need  any  caution  in  the  matter ;  he  was  afraid 
even  to  pick  up  his  hat :  so  I  pushed  forward  on  my  way,  without 
molestation.  This  incident,  however,  had  its  effect  upon  me.  I 
became  fearful  of  sleeping  in  any  house  at  night,  lest  I  should  be 
stopped.  I  took  my  meals  in  the  houses,  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
but  would  turn  aside  at  night,  into  some  wood  or  ravine,  make  a 
fire,  and  sleep  before  it.  This  I  considered  was  true  hunter's 
style,  and  I  wished  to  inure  myself  to  it. 

"  At  length  I  arrived  at  Brownsville,  leg- weary  and  way-worn, 
and  in  a  shabby  plight,  as  you  may  suppose,  having  been  '  camp 
ing  out '  for  some  nights  past.  I  applied  at  some  of  the  inferior 
inns,  but  could  gain  no  admission.  I  was  regarded  for  a  moment 


258  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


with  a  dubious  eye,  and  then  informed  they  did  not  receive  foot- 
passengers.  At  last  I  went  boldly  to  the  principal  inn.  The 
landlord  appeared  as  unwilling  as  the  rest  to  receive  a  vagrant 
boy  beneath  his  roof;  but  his  wife  interfered,  in  the  midst  of  his 
excuses,  and  half  elbowing  him  aside  : 

"  '  Where  are  you  going,  my  lad  ?  '  said  she. 

"  <  To  Kentucky.' 

"  '  What  are  you  going  there  for  ?  ' 

"  <  To  hunt.' 

"  She  looked  earnestly  at  me  for  a  moment  or  two.  '  Have 
you  a  mother  living  ?  '  said  she,  at  length. 

"  '  No,  madam  :  she  has  been  dead  for  some  time.7 

"  '  I  thought  so  ! '  cried  she,  warmly.  '  I  knew  if  you  had  a 
mother  living,  you  would  not  be  here.'  From  that  moment  the 
good  woman  treated  me  with  a  mother's  kindness. 

I  remained  several  days  beneath  her  roof,  recovering  from 
the  fatigue  of  my  journey.  While  here,  I  purchased  a  rifle,  and 
practised  daily  at  a  mark,  to  prepare  myself  for  a  hunter's  life. 
When  sufficiently  recruited  in  strength,  I  took  leave  of  my  kind 
host  and  hostess,  and  resumed  my  journey. 

"  At  Wheeling  I  embarked  in  a  flat-bottomed  family  boat, 
technically  called  a  broad-horn,  a  prime  river  conveyance  in  those 
days.  In  this  ark  for  two  weeks  I  floated  down  the  Ohio.  The 
river  was  as  yet  in  all  its  wild  beauty.  Its  loftiest  trees  had  not 
been  thinned  out.  The  forest  overhung  the  water's  edge,  and 
was  occasionally  skirted  by  immense  canebrakes.  Wild  animals 
of  all  kinds  abounded.  We  heard  them  rushing  through  the 
thickets,  and  plashing  in  the  water.  Deer  and  bears  would  fre 
quently  swim  across  the  river ;  others  would  come  down  to  the 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  259 


bank,  and  gaze  at  the  boat  as  it  passed.  I  was  incessantly  on 
the  alert  with  my  rifle ;  but  somehow  or  other,  the  game  was 
never  within  shot.  Sometimes  I  got  a  chance  to  land  and  try  my 
skill  on  shore.  I  shot  squirrels,  and  small  birds,  and  even  wild 
turkeys ;  but  though  I  caught  glimpses  of  deer  bounding  away 
through  the  woods,  I  never  could  get  a  fair  shot  at  them. 

"  In  this  way  we  glided  in  our  broad-horn  past  Cincinnati, 
the  '  Queen  of  the  West,'  as  she  is  now  called ;  then  a  mere  group 
of  log  cabins ;  and  the  site  of  the  bustling  city  of  Louisville,  then 
designated  by  a  solitary  house.  As  I  said  before,  the  Ohio 
was  as  yet  a  wild  river  ;  all  was  forest,  forest,  forest !  Near  the 
confluence  of  Green  River  with  the  Ohio,  I  landed,  bade  adieu  to 
the  broad-horn,  and  struck  for  the  interior  of  Kentucky.  I  had 
no  precise  plan  ;  my  only  idea  was  to  make  for  one  of  the  wildest 
parts  of  the  country.  I  had  relatives  in  ^Lexington,  and  other 
settled  places,  to  whom  I  thought  it  probable  my  father  would 
write  concerning  me  :  so  as  I  was  full  of  manhood  and  indepen 
dence,  and  resolutely  bent  on  making  my  way  in  the  world  without 
assistance  or  control,  I  resolved  to  keep  clear  of  them  all. 

"  In  the  course  of  my  first  day's  trudge,  I  shot  a  wild  turkey, 
and  slung  it  on  my  back  for  provisions.  The  forest  was  open  and 
clear  from  underwood.  I  saw  deer  in  abundance,  but  always  run 
ning,  running.  It  seemed  to  me  as  if  these  animals  never  stood  still. 

"  At  length  I  came  to  where  a  gang  of  half-starved  wolves 
were  feasting  on  the  carcass  of  a  deer  which  they  had  run  down  • 
and  snarling  and  snapping,  and  fighting  like  so  many  dogs.  They 
were  all  so  ravenous  and  intent  upon  their  prey,  that  they  did  not 
notice  me,  and  I  had  time  to  make  my  observations.  One,  larger 
and  fiercer  than  the  rest,  seemed  to  claim  the  larger  share,  and 


260  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


to  keep  the  others  in  awe.  If  any  one  came  too  near  him  while 
eating,  he  would  fly  off,  seize  and  shake  him,  and  then  return  to 
his  repast.  l  This,'  thought  I,  '  must  be  the  captain ;  if  I  can 
kill  him,  I  shall  defeat  the  whole  army.'  I  accordingly  took  aim, 
fired,  and  down  dropped  the  old  fellow.  He  might  be  only  sham 
ming  dead  ;  so  I  loaded  and  put  a  second  ball  through  him.  He 
never  budged ;  all  the  rest  ran  off,  and  my  victory  was  complete. 

"  It  would  not  be  easy  to  describe  my  triumphant  feelings  on 
this  great  achievement.  I  marched  on  with  renovated  spirit ;  re 
garding  myself  as  absolute  lord  of  the  forest.  As  night  drew 
near,  I  prepared  for  camping.  My  first  care  was  to  collect  dry 
wood  and  make  a  roaring  fire  to  cook  and  sleep  by,  and  to  frighten 
off  wolves,  and  bears,  and  panthers.  I  then  began  to  pluck  my 
turkey  for  supper.  I  had  camped  out  several  times  in  the  early 
part  of  my  expedition,;  but  that  was  in  comparatively  more  set 
tled  and  civilized  regions ;  where  there  were  no  wild  animals  of 
consequence  in  the  forest.  This  was  my  first  camping  out  in  the 
real  wilderness ;  and  I  was  soon  made  sensible  of  the  loneliness 
and  wildness  of  my  situation. 

"  In  a  little  while,  a  concert  of  wolves  commenced  :  there 
might  have  been  a  dozen  or  two,  but  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  there 
were  thousands.  I  never  heard  such  howling  and  whining. 
Having  prepared  my  turkey,  I  divided  it  into  two  parts,  thrust 
two  sticks  into  one  of  the  halves,  and  planted  them  on  end  before 
the  fire,  the  hunter's  mode  of  roasting.  The  smell  of  roast  meat 
quickened  the  appetites  of  the  wolves,  and  their  concert  became 
truly  infernal.  They  seemed  to  be  all  around  me,  but  I  could 
only  now  and  then  get  a  glimpse  of  one  of  them,  as  he  came  with 
in  the  glare  of  the  light. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  261 


"  I  did  not  much  care  for  the  wolves,  who  I  knew  to  be  a 
cowardly  race,  but  I  had  heard  terrible  stories  of  panthers,  and 
began  to  fear  their  stealthy  pro wlings  in  the  surrounding  dark 
ness.  I  was  thirsty,  and  heard  a  brook  bubbling  and  tinkling 
along  at  no  great  distance,  but  absolutely  dared  not  go  there,  lest 
some  panther  might  lie  in  wait,  and  spring  upon  me.  By  and  by 
a  deer  whistled.  I  had  never  heard  one  before,  and  thought  it 
must  be  a  panther.  I  now  felt  uneasy  lest  he  might  climb  the 
trees,  crawl  along  the  branches  over  head,  and  plump  down  upon 
me ;  so  I  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on  the  branches,  until  my  head 
ached.  I  more  than  once  thought  I  saw  fiery  eyes  glaring  down 
from  among  the  leaves.  At  length  I  thought  of  my  supper,  and 
turned  to  see  if  my  half  turkey  was  cooked.  In  crowding  so 
near  the  fire,  I  had  pressed  the  meat  into  the  flames,  and  it  was 
consumed.  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  toast  the  other  half,  and 
take  better  care  of  it.  On  that  half  I  made  my  supper,  without 
salt  or  bread.  I  was  still  so  possessed  with  the  dread  of  pan 
thers,  that  I  could  not  close  my  eyes  all  night,  but  lay  watching 
the  trees  until  daybreak,  when  all  my  fears  were  dispelled  with 
the  darkness ;  and  as  I  saw  the  morning  sun  sparkling  down 
through  the  branches  of  the  trees,  I  smiled  to  think  how  I  suf 
fered  myself  to  be  dismayed  by  sounds  and  shadows  :  but  I  was 
a  young  woodsman,  and  a  stranger  in  Kentucky. 

"  Having  breakfasted  on  the  remainder  of  my  turkey,  an^ 
slaked  my  thirst  at  the  bubbling  stream,  without  farther  dread 
of  panthers,  I  resumed  my  wayfaring  witi?  buoyant  feelings.  I 
again  saw  deer,  but  as  usual  running,  running !  I  tried  in  vain 
to  get  a  shot  at  them,  and  began  to  fear  I  never  should.  I  was 
gazing, with  vexation  after  a  herd  in  full  scamper,  when  I  was 


262  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


startled  by  a  human  voice.  Turning  round,  I  saw  a  man  at  a 
short  distance  from  me,  in  a  hunting-dress. 

"  '  What  are  you  after,  my  lad  ?'  cried  he. 

"'Those  deer;'  replied  I,  pettishly;  'but  it  seems  as  if  they 
never  stand  still.' 

"  Upon  that  he  burst  out  laughing.  l  Where  are  you  from  ?  ' 
said  he. 

" '  From  Richmond.' 

"  '  What !     In  old  Virginny  ? ' 

"  <  The  same.' 

"  '  And  how  on  earth  did  you  get  here?' 

"  1 1  landed  at  Green  River  from  a  broad-horn.' 

"  '  And  where  are  your  companions?' 

"  '  I  have  none.' 

"  l  What  ?— all  alone ! ' 

"  l  Yes.' 

"  '  Where  are  you  going  ?  ' 

"  *  Any  where.' 

"  '  And  what  have  you  come  here  for  ? ' 

" '  To  hunt.' 

"'Well,'  said  he,  laughingly,  l you'll  make  a  real  hunter; 
there's  no  mistaking  that ! ' 

"  '  Have  you  killed  any  thing  ? ' 

"  '  Nothing  but  a  turkey;  I  can't  get  within  shot  of  a  deer: 
they  are  always  running.' 

"  '  Oh,  I'll  tell  you  the  secret  of  that.  You're  always  push 
ing  forward,  and  starting  the  deer  at  a  distance,  and  gazing  at 
those  that  are  scampering ;  but  you  must  step  as  slow,  and  silent, 
and  cautious  as  a  cat,  and  keep  your  eyes  close  around  you,  and 


EXPERIENCES  OF  EALPH  RING  WOOD.  263 


lurk  fiom  tree  to  tree,  if  you  wish  to  get  a  chance  at  deer.  But 
come,  go  home  with  me.  My  name  is  Bill  Smithers ;  I  live  not 
far  off:  stay  with  me  a  little  while,  and  I'll  teach  you  how  to 
hunt.' 

"  I  gladly  accepted  the  invitation  of  honest  Bill  Smithers. 
We  soon  reached  his  habitation ;  a  mere  log  hut,  with  a  square 
hole  for  a  window,  and  a  chimney  made  of  sticks  and  clay.  Here 
he  lived,  with  a  wife  and  child.  He  had  '  girdled  '  the  trees  for 
an  acre  or  two  around,  preparatory  to  clearing  a  space  for  corn 
and  potatoes.  In  the  mean  time  he  maintained  his  family  entire 
ly  by  his  rifle,  and  I  soon  found  him  to  be  a  first-rate  huntsman. 
Under  his  tutelage  I  received  my  first  effective  lessons  in  l  wood 
craft.' 

"  The  more  I  knew  of  a  hunter's  life,  the  more  I  relished  it. 
The  country,  too,  which  had  been  the  promised  land  of  my  boy 
hood,  did  not,  like  most  promised  lands,  disappoint  me.  No 
wilderness  could  be  more  beautiful  than  this  part  of  Kentucky, 
in  those  times.  The  forests  were  open  and  spacious,  with  noble 
trees,  some  of  which  looked  as  if  they  had  stood  for  centuries. 
There  were  beautiful  prairies,  too,  diversified  with  groves  and 
clumps  of  trees,  which  looked  like  vast  parks,  and  in  which  you 
could  see  the  deer  running,  at  a  great  distance.  In  the  proper 
season,  these  prairies  would  be  covered  in  many  places  with  wild 
strawberries,  where  your  horse's  hoofs  would  be  dyed  to  the  fet 
lock.  I  thought  there  could  not  be  another  place  in  the  world 
equal  to  Kentucky — and  I  think  so  still. 

"  After  I  had  passed  ten  or  twelve  days  with  Bill  Smithers, 
I  thought  it  time  to  shift  my  quarters,  for  his  house  was  scarce 
large  enough  for  his  own  family,  and  I  had  no  idea  of  being  an 


264-  EXPERIENCES  OF  EALPH  RINGWOOD. 


encumbrance  to  any  one.  I  accordingly  made  up  my  bundle, 
shouldered  my  rifle,  took  a  friendly  leave  of  Smithers  and  his 
wife,  and  set  out  in  quest  of  a  Nirnrod  of  the  wilderness,  one  John 
Miller,  who  lived  alone,  nearly  forty  miles  off,  and  who  I  hoped 
would  be  well  pleased  to  have  a  hunting  companion. 

"  I  soon  found  out  that  one  of  the  most  important  items  in 
woodcraft,  in  a  new  country,  was  the  skill  to  find  one's  way  in  the 
wilderness.  There  were  no  regular  roads  in  the  forests,  but  they 
were  cut  up  and  perplexed  by  paths  leading  in  all  directions. 
Some  of  these  were  made  by  the  cattle  of  the  settlers,  and  were 
called  *  stock-tracks,'  but  others  had  been  made  by  the  immense 
droves  of  buffaloes  which  roamed  about  the  country,  from  the  flood 
until  recent  times.  These  were  called  buffalo-tracks,  and  traversed 
Kentucky  from  end  to  end,  like  highways.  Traces  of  them  may 
still  be  seen  in  uncultivated  parts,  or  deeply  worn  in  the  rocks 
where  they  crossed  the  mountains.  I  was  a  young  woodsman,  and 
sorely  puzzled  to  distinguish  one  kind  of  track  from  the  other,  or 
to  make  out  my  course  through  this  tangled  labyrinth.  While 
thus  perplexed,  I  heard  a  distant  roaring  and  rushing  sound ;  a 
gloom  stole  over  the  forest :  on  looking  up,  when  I  could  catch  a 
stray  glimpse  of  the  sky,  I  beheld  the  clouds  rolled  up  like  balls, 
the  lower  part  as  black  as  ink.  There  was  now  and  then  an  ex 
plosion,  like  a  burst  of  cannonry  afar  off,  and  the  crash  of  a  fall 
ing  tree.  I  had  heard  of  hurricanes  in  the  woods,  and  surmised 
that  one  was  at  hand.  It  soon  came  crashing  its  way ;  the  forest 
writhing,  and  twisting,  and  groaning  before  it.  The  hurricane 
did  not  extend  far  on  either  side,  but  in  a  manner  ploughed  a  fur 
row  through  the  woodland ;  snapping  off  or  uprooting  trees  that 
had  stood  for  centuries,  and  filling  the  air  with  whirling  branches. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  265 


I  was  directly  in  its  course,  and  took  my  stand  behind  an  immense 
poplar,  six  feet  in  diameter.  It  bore  for  a  time  the  full  fury  of 
the  blast,  but  at  length  began  to  yield.  Seeing  it  falling,  I 
scrambled  nimbly  round  the  trunk  like  a  squirrel.  Down  it  went, 
bearing  down  another  tree  with  it.  I  crept  under  the  trunk  as  a 
shelter,  and  was  protected  from  other  trees  which  fell  around  me, 
but  was  sore  all  over,  from  the  twigs  and  branches  driven  against 
me  by  the  blast. 

"  This  was  the  only  incident  of  consequence  that  occurred  on 
my  way  to  John  Miller's,  where  I  arrived  on  the  following  day, 
and  was  received  by  the  veteran  with  the  rough  kindness  of  a  back 
woodsman.  He  was  a  grayhaired  man,  hardy  and  weather-beaten, 
with  a  blue  wart,  like  a  great  bead,  over  one  eye,  whence  he  was 
nicknamed  by  the  hunters,  '  Blue-bead  Miller.'  He  had  been  in 
these  parts  from  the  earliest  settlements,  and  had  signalized  him 
self  in  the  hard  conflicts  with  the  Indians,  which  gained  Kentucky 
the  appellation  of  c  the  Bloody  Ground.'  In  one  of  these  fights 
he  had  had  an  arm  broken ;  in  another  he  had  narrowly  escaped, 
when  hotly  pursued,  by  jumping  from  a  precipice  thirty  feet  high 
into  a  river. 

"  Miller  willingly  received  me  into  his  house  as  an  inmate, 
and  seemed  pleased  with  the  idea  of  making  a  hunter  of  me.  His 
dwelling  was  a  small  log-house,  with  a  loft  or  garret  of  boards,  so 
that  there  was  ample  room  for  both  of  us.  Under  his  instruc 
tion,  I  soon  made  a  tolerable  proficiency  in  hunting.  My  first 
exploit  of  any  consequence  was  killing  a  bear.  I  was  hunting  in 
company  with  two  brothers,  when  we  came  upon  the  track  of 
Bruin,  in  a  wood  where  there  was  an  undergrowth  of  canes  and 
grape-vines.  He  was  scrambling  up  a  tree,  when  I  shot  him 
12 


266  EXPERIENCES  OF  KALPH  RINGWOOD. 


through  the  breast :  he  fell  to  the  ground,  and  lay  motionless. 
The  brothers  sent  in  their  dog,  who  seized  the  bear  by  the  throat. 
Bruin  raised  one  arm,  and  gave  the  dog  a  hug  that  crushed  his 
ribs.  One  yell,  and  all  was  over.  I  don't  know  which  was  first 
dead,  the  dog  or  the  bear.  The  two  brothers  sat  down  and  cried 
like  children  over  their  unfortunate  dog.  Yet  they  were  mere 
rough  huntsmen  almost  as  wild  and  untamable  as  Indians :  but 
they  were  fine  fellows. 

"  By  degrees  I  became  known,  and  somewhat  of  a  favorite 
among  the  hunters  of  the  neighborhood ;  that  is  to  say,  men  who 
lived  within  a  circle  of  thirty  or  forty  miles,  and  came  occasional 
ly  to  see  John  Miller,  who  was  a  patriarch  among  them.  They 
lived  widely  apart,  in  log-huts  and  wigwams,  almost  with  the 
simplicity  of  Indians,  and  well-nigh  as  destitute  of  the  comforts 
and  inventions  of  civilized  life.  They  seldom  saw  each  other ; 
weeks,  and  even  months  would  elapse,  without  their  visiting.  When 
they  did  meet,  it  was  very  much  after  the  manner  of  Indians ; 
loitering  about  all  day,  without  having  much  to  say,  but  becoming 
communicative  as  evening  advanced,  and  sitting  up  half  the  night 
before  the  fire,  telling  hunting  stories,  and  terrible  tales  of  the 
fights  of  the  Bloody  Ground. 

"  Sometimes  several  would  join  in  a  distant  hunting  expedi 
tion,  or  rather  campaign.  Expeditions  of  this  kind  lasted  from 
November  until  April ;  during  which  we  laid  up  our  stock  of  sum 
mer  provisions.  We  shifted  our  hunting  camps  from  place  to 
place,  according  as  we  found  the  game.  They  were  generally 
pitched  near  a  run  of  water,  and  close  by  a  canebrake,  to  screen  us 
from  the  wind.  One  side  of  our  lodge  was  open  towards  the  fire. 
Our  horses  were  hoppled  and  turned  loose  in  the  canebrakes,  with 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  267 


bells  round  their  necks.  One  of  the  party  staid  at  home  to  watch 
the  camp,  prepare  the  meals,  and  keep  off  the  wolves ;  the  others 
hunted.  When  a  hunter  killed  a  deer  at  a  distance  from  the  camp, 
he  would  open  it  and  take  out  the  entrails ;  then  climbing  a  sap 
ling,  he  would  bend  it  down,  tie  the  deer  to  the  top,  and  let  it 
spring  up  again  so  as  to  suspend  the  carcass  out  of  reach  of  the 
wolves.  At  night  he  would  return  to  the  camp,  and  give  an  ac 
count  of  his  luck.  The  next  morning  early  he  would  get  a  horse 
out  of  the  canebrake  and  bring  home  his  game.  That  day  he 
would  stay  at  home  to  cut  up  the  carcass,  while  the  others  hunted. 

"  Our  days  were  thus  spent  in  silent  and  lonely  occupations. 
It  was  only  at  night  that  we  would  gather  together  before  the 
fire,  and  be  sociable.  I  was  a  novice,  and  used  to  listen  with 
open  eyes  and  ears  to  the  strange  and  wild  stories  told  by  the  old 
hunters,  and  believed  every  thing  I  heard.  Some  of  their  stories 
bordered  upon  the  supernatural.  They  believed  that  their  rifles 
might  be  spellbound,  so  as  not  to  be  able  to  kill  a  buffalo,  even 
at  arm's  length.  This  superstition  they  had  derived  from  the  In 
dians,  who  often  think  the  white  hunters  have  laid  a  spell  upon 
their  rifles.  Miller  partook  of  this  superstition,  and  used  to  tell 
of  his  rifle's  having  a  spell  upon  it ;  but  it  often  seemed  to  me  to 
be  a  shuffling  way  of  accounting  for  a  bad  shot.  If  a  hunter 
grossly  missed  his  aim,  he  would  ask,  '  Who  shot  last  with  his 
rifle  ? ' — and  hint  that  he  must  have  charmed  it.  The  sure  mode  to 
disenchant  the  gun  was  to  shoot  a  silver  bullet  out  of  it. 

"  By  the  opening  of  spring  we  would  generally  have  quantities 
of  bear's  meat  and  venison  salted,  dried,  and  smoked,  and  numer 
ous  packs  of  skins.  We  would  then  make  the  best  of  our  way 
home  from  our  distant  hunting-grounds ;  transporting  our  spoils, 


268  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


sometimes  in  canoes  along  the  rivers,  sometimes  on  horseback 
over  land,  and  our  return  would  often  be  celebrated  by  feasting 
and  dancing,  in  true  backwoods  style.  I  have  given  you  some 
idea  of  our  hunting ;  let  me  now  give  you  a  sketch  of  our 
frolicking. 

"  It  was  on  our  return  from  a  winter's  hunting  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Green  River,  when  we  received  notice  that  there  was 
to  be  a  grand  frolic  at  Bob  Mosely's,  to  greet  the  hunters.  This 
Bob  Mosely  was  a  prime  fellow  throughout  the  country.  He  was 
an  indifferent  hunter,  it  is  true,  and  rather  lazy,  to  boot ;  but 
then  he  could  play  the  fiddle,  and  that  was  enough  to  make  him 
of  consequence.  There  was  no  other  man  within  a  hundred  miles 
that  could  play  the  fiddle,  so  there  was  no  having  a  regular  frolic 
without  Bob  Mosely.  The  hunters,  therefore,  were  always  ready 
to  give  him  a  share  of  their  game  in  exchange  for  his  music,  and 
Bob  was  always  ready  to  get  up  a  carousal,  whenever  there  was  a 
party  returning  from  a  hunting  expedition.  The  present  frolic 
was  to  take  place  at  Bob  Mosely's  own  house,  which  was  on  the 
Pigeon-Roost  Fork  of  the  Muddy,  which  is  a  branch  of  Rough 
Creek,  which  is  a  branch  of  Green  River. 

"  Every  body  was  agog  for  the  revel  at  Bob  Mosely's  ;  and  as 
all  the  fashion  of  the  neighborhood  was  to  be  there,  I  thought  I 
must  brush  up  for  the  occasion.  My  leathern  hunting-dress,  which 
was  the  only  one  I  had,  was  somewhat  the  worse  for  wear,  it  is 
true,  and  considerably  japanned  with  blood  and  grease  5  but  I  was 
up  to  hunting  expedients.  Getting  into  a  periogue,  I  paddled 
off  to  a  part  of  the  Green  River  where  there  was  sand  and  clay, 
that  might  serve  for  soap ;  then  taking  off  my  dress,  I  scrubbed 
and  scoured  it,  until  I  thought  it  looked  very  well.  I  then  put 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  269 


it  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  and  hung  it  out  of  the  periogue  to  dry, 
while  I  stretched  myself  very  comfortably  on  the  green  bank  of 
the  river.  Unluckily  a  flaw  struck  the  periogue,  and  tipped  over 
the  stick  :  down  went  my  dress  to  the  bottom  of  the  river,  and  I 
never  saw  it  more.  Here  was  I,  left  almost  in  a  state  of  nature. 
I  managed  to  make  a  kind  of  Robinson  Crusoe  garb  of  undressed 
skins,  with  the  hair  on,  which  enabled  me  to  get  home  with  de 
cency  ;  but  my  dream  of  gayety  and  fashion  was  at  an  end ;  for 
how  could  I  think  of  figuring  in  high  life  at  the  Pigeon-Roost, 
equipped  like  a  mere  Orson  ? 

"  Old  Miller,  who  really  began  to  take  some  pride  in  me,  was 
confounded  when  he  understood  that  I  did  not  intend  to  go  to 
Bob  Mosely's ;  but  when  I  told  him  my  misfortune,  and  that  I 
had  no  dress  :  '  By  the  powers,'  cried  he,  '  but  you  shall  go, 
and  you  shall  be  the  best  dressed  and  the  best  mounted  lad  there  ! ' 

"  He  immediately  set  to  work  to  cut  out  and  make  up  a 
hunting-shirt,  of  dressed  deer-skin,  gaily  fringed  at  the  shoul 
ders,  and  leggins  of  the  same,  fringed  from  hip  to  heel.  He 
then  made  me  a  rakish  raccoon- cap,  with  a  flaunting  tail  to  it; 
mounted  me  on  his  best  horse  ;  and  I  may  say,  without  vanity, 
that  I  was  one  of  the  smartest  fellows  that  figured  on  that  occa 
sion,  at  the  Pigeon-Roost  Fork  of  the  Muddy. 

"  It  was  no  small  occasion,  either,  let  me  tell  you.  Bob 
Mosely's  house  was  a  tolerably  large  bark  shanty,  with  a  clap 
board  roof;  and  there  were  assembled  all  the  young  hunters  and 
pretty  girls  of  the  country,  for  many  a  mile  round.  The  young 
men  were  in  their  best  hunting-dresses,  but  not  one  could  com 
pare  with  mine ;  and  my  raccoon-cap,  with  its  flowing  tail,  was 
the  admiration  of  every  body.  The  girls  were  mostly  in  doe- 


270  EXPERIENCES  OF  EALPH  RINGWOOD. 


skin  dresses  ;  for  there  was  no  spinning  and  weaving  as  yet  in 
the  woods  ;  nor  any  need  of  it.  I  never  saw  girls  that  seemed 
to  me  better  dressed  ;  and  I  was  somewhat  of  a  judge,  having 
seen  fashions  at  Richmond.  We  had  a  hearty  dinner,  and  a 
merry  one ;  for  there  was  Jemmy  Kiel,  famous  for  raccoon-hunt 
ing,  and  Bob  Tarleton,  and  Wesley  Pigman,  and  Joe  Taylor, 
and  several  other  prime  fellows  for  a  frolic,  that  made  all  ring 
again,  and  laughed  that  you  might  have  heard  them  a  mile. 

"  After  dinner,  we  began  dancing,  and  were  hard  at  it,  when, 
about  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  new  arrival — 
the  two  daughters  of  old  Simon  Schultz  ;  two  young  ladies  that 
affected  fashion  and  late  hours.  Their  arrival  had  nearly  put  an 
end  to  all  our  merriment.  I  must  go  a  little  round  about  in  my 
story,  to  explain  to  you  how  that  happened. 

"  As  old  Schultz,  the  father,  was  one  day  looking  in  the  cane- 
brakes  for  his  cattle,  he  came  upon  the  track  of  horses.  He 
knew  they  were  none  of  his,  and  that  none  of  his  neighbors  had 
horses  about  that  place.  They  must  be  stray  horses  ;  or  must  be 
long  to  some  traveller  who  had  lost  his  way,  as  the  track  led  no 
where.  He  accordingly  followed  it  up,  until  he  came  to  an  unlucky 
peddler,  with  two  or  three  packhorses,  who  had  been  bewildered 
among  the  cattle-tracks,  and  had  wandered  for  two  or  three  days 
among  woods  and  canebrakes,  until  he  was  almost  famished. 

"  Old  Schultz  brought  him  to  his  house ;  fed  him  on  veni 
son,  bear's  meat,  and  hominy,  and  at  the  end  of  a  week  put  him 
in  prime  condition.  The  peddler  could  not  sufficiently  express 
his  thankfulness ;  and  when  about  to  depart,  inquired  what  he 
had  to  pay  ?  Old  Schultz  stepped  back,  with  surprise.  '  Stran 
ger,'  said  he,  'you  have  been  welcome  under  my  roof.  I've 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  271 


given  }Tou  nothing  but  wild  meat  and  hominy,  because  I  had  no 
better,  but  have  been  glad  of  your  company.  You  are  welcome 
to  stay  as  long  as  you  please  ;  but  by  Zounds !  if  any  one  offers 
to  pay  Simon  Schultz  for  food,  he  affronts  him  ! '  So  saying,  he 
walked  out  in  a  huff. 

"  The  peddler  admired  the  hospitality  of  his  host,  but  could 
not  reconcile  it  to  his  conscience  to  go  away  without  making 
some  recompense.  There  were  honest  Simon's  two  daughters, 
two  strapping,  red  haired  girls.  He  opened  his  packs  and  dis 
played  riches  before  them  of  which  they  had  no  conception  ;  for 
in  those  days  there  were  no  country  stores  in  those  parts,  with 
their  artificial  finery  and  trinketry  ;  and  this  was  the  first  peddler 
that  had  wandered  into  that  part  of  the  wilderness.  The  girls 
were  for  a  time  completely  dazzled,  and  knew  not  what  to  choose  : 
but  what  caught  their  eyes  most,  were  two  looking-glasses,  about 
the  size  of  a  dollar,  set  in  "gilt  tin.  They  had  never  seen  the 
like  before,  having  used  no  other  mirror  than  a  pail  of  water. 
The  peddler  presented  them  these  jewels,  without  the  least  hesi 
tation  :  nay,  he  gallantly  hung  them  round  their  necks  by  red 
ribbons,  almost  as  fine  as  the  glasses  themselves.  This  done, 
he  took  his  departure,  leaving  them  as  much  astonished  as  two 
princesses  in  a  fairy  tale,  that  have  received  a  magic  gift  from 
an  enchanter. 

"  It  was  with  these  looking-glasses,  hung  round  their  necks 
as  lockets,  by  red  ribbons,  that  old  Schultz's  daughters  made 
their  appearance  at  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  at  the  frolic 
at  Bob  Mosely's,  on  the  Pigeon-Roost  Fork  of  the  Muddy. 

'  By  the  powers,  but  it  was  an  event !  Such  a  thing  had 
never  before  been  seen  in  Kentucky.  Bob  Tarleton,  a  strapping 


272  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


fellow,  with  a  head  like  a  chestnut-burr,  and  a  look  like  a  boar  m 
an  apple  orchard,  stepped  up,  caught  hold  of  the  looking-glass 
of  one  of  the  girls,  and  gazing  at  it  for  a  moment,  cried  out : 
'  Joe  Taylor,  come  here  !  come  here  !  I'll  be  darn'd  if  Patty 
Schultz  aint  got  a  locket  that  you  can  see  your  face  in,  as  clear 
as  in  a  spring  of  water  ! ' 

"  In  a  twinkling  all  the  young  hunters  gathered  round  old 
Schultz's  daughters.  I,  who  knew  what  looking-glasses  were 
did  not  budge.  Some  of  the  girls  who  sat  near  me  were  exces 
sively  mortified  at  finding  themselves  thus  deserted.  I  heard 
Peggy  Pugh  say  to  Sally  Pigman,  c  Goodness  knows,  it's  well 
Schultz's  daughters  is  got  them  things  round  their  necks,  for 
it's  the  first  time  the  young  men  crowded  round  them  P 

"  I  saw  immediately  the  danger  of  the  case.  We  were  a 
small  community,  and  could  not  afford  to  be  split  up  by  feuds. 
So  I  stepped  up  to  the  girls,  and  whispered  to  them  :  '  Polly,' 
said  I,  '  those  lockets  are  powerful  fine,  and  become  you  amaz 
ingly  ;  but  you  don't  consider  that  the  country  is  not  advanced 
enough  in  these  parts  for  such  things.  You  and  I  understand 
these  matters,  but  these  people  don't.  Fine  things  like  these 
may  do  very  well  in  the  old  settlements,  but  they  won't  answer 
at  the  Pigeon-Roost  Fork  of  the  Muddy.  You  had  better  lay 
them  aside  for  the  present,  or  we  shall  have  no  peace.' 

"  Polly  and  her  sister  luckily  saw  their  error ;  they  took  off 
the  lockets,  laid  them  aside,  and  harmony  was  restored :  other 
wise,  I  verily  believe  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  our  com 
munity.  Indeed,  notwithstanding  the  great  sacrifice  they  made 
on  this  occasion,  I  do  not  think  old  Schultz's  daughters  were  ever 
much  liked  afterwards  among  the  young  women. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  273 


"  This  was  the  first  time  that  looking-glasses  were  ever  seen 
in  the  Green  River  part  of  Kentucky. 

"  I  had  now  lived  some  time  with  old  Miller,  and  had  become 
a  tolerably  expert  hunter.  Game,  however,  began  to  grow  scarce. 
The  buffalo  had  gathered  together,  as  if  by  universal  understand 
ing,  and  had  crossed  the  Mississippi  never  to  return.  Strangers 
kept  pouring  into  the  country,  clearing  away  the  forests,  and 
building  in  all  directions.  The  hunters  began  to  grow  restive. 
Jemmy  Kiel,  the  same  of  whom  I  have  already  spoken,  for  his 
skill  in  raccoon  catching,  came  to  me  one  day :  1 1  can't  stand 
this  any  longer.'  said  he ;  '  we're  getting  too  thick  here.  Simon 
Schultz  crowds  me  so,  that  I  have  no  comfort  of  my  life.' 

"  '  Why,  how  you  talk ! '  said  I ;  '  Simon  Schultz  lives  twelve 
miles  off.' 

"  '  No  matter ;  his  cattle  run  with  mine,  and  I've  no  idea  of 
living  where  another  man's  cattle  can  run  with  mine.  That's  too 
close  neighborhood;  I  want  elbow-room.  This  country,  too,  is 
growing  too  poor  to  live  in ;  there's  no  game  :  so  two  or  three  of 
us  have  made  up  our  minds  to  follow  the  buffalo  to  the  Missouri, 
and  we  should  like  to  have  you  of  the  party.'  Other  hunters  of 
my  acquaintance  talked  in  the  same  manner.  This  set  me  think 
ing  :  but  the  more  I  thought,  the  more  I  was  perplexed.  I  had 
no  one  to  advise  with :  old  Miller  and  his  associates  knew  of  but 
one  mode  of  life,  and  I  had  no  experience  in  any  other :  but  I  had 
a  wider  scope  of  thought.  When  out  hunting  alone,  I  used  to 
forget  the  sport,  and  sit  for  hours  together  on  the  trunk  of  a  tree, 
with  rifle  in  hand,  buried  in  thought,  and  debating  with  myself: 
*  Shall  I  go  with  Jemmy  Kiel  and  his  company,  or  shall  I  remain 
here  ?  If  I  remain  here,  there  will  soon  be  nothing  left  to  hunt. 
12* 


274  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOB. 


But  am  I  to  be  a  hunter  all  my  life  ?  Have  not  I  something 
more  in  me,  than  to  be  carrying  a  rifle  on  my  shoulder,  day  after 
day,  and  dodging  about  after  bears,  and  deer,  and  other  brute 
beasts  ? '  My  vanity  told  me  I  had ;  and  I  called  to  mind  my 
boyish  boast  to  my  sister,  that  I  would  never  return  home,  until 
I  returned  a  member  of  Congress  from  Kentucky ;  but  was  this 
the  way  to  fit  myself  for  such  a  station  ? 

"  Various  plans  passed  through  my  mind,  but  they  were  aban 
doned  almost  as  soon  as  formed.  At  length  I  determined  on  be 
coming  a  lawyer.  True  it  is,  I  knew  almost  nothing.  I  had  left 
school  before  I  had  learnt  beyond  the  'rule  of  three.'  *  Never 
mind,'  said  I  to  myself,  resolutely ;  'I  am  a  terrible  fellow  for 
hanging  on  to  any  thing,  when  I've  once  made  up  my  mind ;  and 
if  a  man  has  but  ordinary  capacity,  and  will  set  to  work  with 
heart  and  soul,  and  stick  to  it,  he  can  do  almost  any  thing.'  With 
this  maxim,  which  has  been  pretty  much  my  main  stay  through 
out  life,  I  fortified  myself  in  my  determination  to  attempt  the 
law.  But  how  was  I  to  set  about  it  ?  I  must  quit  this  forest 
life,  and  go  to  one  or  other  of  the  towns,  where  I  might  be  able 
to  study,  and  to  attend  the  courts.  This  too  required  funds.  I 
examined  into  the  state  of  my  finances.  The  purse  given  me  by 
my  father  had  remained  untouched,  in  the  bottom  of  an  old  chest 
up  in  the  loft,  for  money  was  scarcely  needed  in  these  parts.  I 
had  bargained  away  the  skins  acquired  in  hunting,  for  a  horse  and 
various  other  matters,  on  which,  in  case  of  need,  I  could  raise 
funds.  I  therefore  thought  I  could  make  shift  to  maintain  myself 
until  I  was  fitted  for  the  bar. 

"  I  informed  iny  worthy  host  and  patron,  old  Miller,  of  my 
plan.  He  shook  his  head  at  my  turning  my  back  upon  the 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  275 


woods,  when  I  was  in  a  fair  way  of  making  a  first-rate  hunter ; 
but  he  made  no  effort  to  dissuade  me.  I  accordingly  set  off  in 
September,  on  horseback,  intending  to  visit  Lexington,  Frank 
fort,  and  other  of  the  principal  towns,  in  search  of  a  favorable 
place  to  prosecute  my  studies.  My  choice  was  made  sooner  than 
I  expected.  I  had  put  up  one  night  at  Bardstown,  and  found, 
on  inquiry  that  I  could  get  comfortable  board  and  accommoda 
tion  in  a  private  family  for  a  dollar  and  a  half  a  week.  I  liked 
the  place,  and  resolved  to  look  no  farther.  So  the  next  morn 
ing  I  prepared  to  turn  my  face  homeward,  and  take  my  final 
leave  of  forest  life. 

"  I  had  taken  my  breakfast,  and  was  waiting  for  my  horse, 
when,  in  pacing  up  and  down  the  piazza,  I  saw  a  young  girl 
seated  near  a  window,  evidently  a  visitor.  She  was  very  pretty ; 
with  auburn  hair,  and  blue  eyes,  and  was  dressed  in  white.  I 
had  seen  nothing  of  the  kind  since  I  had  left  Richmond  ;  and  at 
that  time  I  was  too  much  of  a  boy  to  be  much  struck  by  female 
charms.  She  was  so  delicate  and  dainty-looking,  so  different 
from  the  hale,  buxom,  brown  girls  of  the  woods ;  and  then  her 
white  dress  ! — it  was  perfectly  dazzling  !  Never  was  poor  youth 
more  taken  by  surprise,  and  suddenly  bewitched.  My  heart 
yearned  to  know  her ;  but  how  was  I  to  accost  her  ?  I  had 
grown  wild  in  the  woods,  and  had  none  of  the  habitudes  of  polite 
life.  Had  she  been  like  Peggy  Pugh,  or  Sally  Pigman,  or  any 
other  of  my  leathern-dressed  belles  of  the  Pigeon-Roost,  I  should 
have  approached  her  without  dread  ;  nay,  had  she  been  as  fair 
as  Schultz's  daughters,  with  their  looking-glass  lockets,  I  should 
not  have  hesitated  :  but  that  white  dress,  and  those  auburn  ring 
lets,  and  blue  eyes,  and  delicate  looks,  quite  daunted,  while  they 


276  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RING  WOOD. 


fascinated  me.  I  don't  know  what  put  it  into  my  head,  but  1 
thought,  all  at  once,  that  I  would  kiss  her!  It  would  take  a 
long  acquaintance  to  arrive  at  such  a  boon,  but  I  might  seize 
upon  it  by  sheer  robbery.  Nobody  knew  me  here.  I  would 
just  step  in,  snatch  a  kiss,  mount  my  horse,  and  ride  off.  She 
would  not  be  the  worse  for  it ;  and  that  kiss — oh  1  I  should  die 
if  I  did  not  get  it  ! 

"  I  gave  no  time  for  the  thought  to  cool,  but  entered  the 
house,  and  stepped  lightly  into  the  room.  She  was  seated  with 
her  back  to  the  door,  looking  out  at  the  window,  and  did  not 
hear  my  approach.  I  tapped  her  chair,  and  as  she  turned  and 
looked  up,  I  snatched  as  sweet  a  kiss  as  ever  was  stolen,  and 
vanished  in  a  twinkling.  The  next  moment  I  was  on  horseback, 
galloping  homeward  ;  my  very  ears  tingling  at  what  I  had  done. 

"  On  my  return  home,  I  sold  my  horse,  and  turned  every 
thing  to  cash,  and  found,  with  the  remains  of  the  paternal 
purse,  that  I  had  nearly  four  hundred  dollars ;  a  little  capital, 
which  I  resolved  to  manage  with  the  strictest  economy. 

"  It  was  hard  parting  with  old  Miller,  who  had  been  like  a 
father  to  me  :  it  cost  me,  too,  something  of  a  struggle  to  give  up 
the  free,  independent  wild- wood  life  I  had  hitherto  led ;  but  I 
had  marked  out  my  course,  and  have  never  been  one  to  flinch  or 
turn  back. 

"  I  footed  it  sturdily  to  Bardstown  ;  took  possession  of  the 
quarters  for  which  I  had  bargained,  shut  myself  up,  and  set  to 
work  with  might  and  main,  to  study.  But  what  a  task  I  had 
before  me  !  I  had  every  thing  to  learn  5  not  merely  law,  but  all 
the  elementary  branches  of  knowledge.  I  read  and  read,  for 
sixteen  hours  out  of  the  four-and-twenty ;  but  the  more  I  read, 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RIXGWOOD.  277 


the  more  I  became  aware  of  my  own  ignorance,  and  shed  bitter 
tears  over  my  deficiency.  It  seemed  as  if  the  wilderness  of  know 
ledge  expanded  and  grew  more  perplexed  as  I  advanced.  Every 
height  gained,  only  revealed  a  wider  region  to  be  traversed,  and 
nearly  filled  me  with  despair.  I  grew  moody,  silent,  and  unso 
cial,  but  studied  on  doggedly  and  incessantly.  The  only  person 
with  whom  I  held  any  conversation,  was  the  worthy  man  in 
whose  house  I  was  quartered.  He  was  honest  and  well-meaning, 
but  perfectly  ignorant,  and  I  believe  would  have  liked  me  much 
better,  if  I  had  not  been  so  much  addicted  to  reading.  He  con 
sidered  all  books  filled  with  lies  and  impositions,  and  seldom 
could  look  into  one,  without  finding  something  to  rouse  his 
spleen.  Nothing  put  him  into  a  greater  passion,  than  the  asser 
tion  that  the  world  turned  on  its  own  axis  every  four-and-twenty 
hours.  He  swore  it  was  an  outrage  upon  common  sense.  '  Why, 
if  it  did,'  said  he,  '  there  would  not  be  a  drop  of  water  in  the 
well,  by  morning,  and  all  the  milk  and  cream  in  the  dairy  would 
be  turned  topsy-turvy  ! '  And  then  to  talk  of  the  earth  going 
round  the  sun  !  '  How  do  they  know  it  ?  I've  seen  the  sun 
rise  every  morning,  and  set  every  evening  for  more  than  thirty 
years.  They  must  not  talk  to  me  about  the  earth's  going  round 
the  sun  ! ' 

"  At  another  time  he  was  in  a  perfect  fret  at  being  told  the 
distance  between  the  sun  and  moon.  {  How  can  any  one  tell  the 
distance  ?'  cried  he.  '  Who  surveyed  it  ?  who  carried  the  chain? 
By  Jupiter  !  they  only  talk  this  way  before  me  to  annoy  me. 
But  then  there's  some  people  of  sense  who  give  in  to  this  cursed 
humbug  !  There's  Judge  Broadnax,  now,  one  of  the  best  law 
yers  we  have  ;  isn't  it  surprising  he  should  believe  in  such  stuff? 


278  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


Why,  sir,  the  other  day  I  heard  him  talk  of  the  distance  from  a 
star  he  called  Mars  to  the  sun  !  He  must  have  got  it  out  of  one 
or  other  of  those  confounded  books  he's  so  fond  of  reading ;  a 
book  some  impudent  fellow  has  written,  who  knew  nobody  could 
swear  the  distance  was  more  or  less.' 

"  For  my  own  part,  feeling  my  own  deficiency  in  scientific 
lore,  I  never  ventured  to  unsettle  his  conviction  that  the  sun 
made  his  daily  circuit  round  the  earth  ;  and  for  aught  I  said  to 
the  contrary,  he  lived  and  died  in  that  belief. 

''  I  had  been  about  a  year  at  Bardstown,  living  thus  stu 
diously  and  reclusely,  when,  as  I  was  one  day  walking  the  street, 
I  met  two  young  girls,  in  one  of  whom  I  immediately  recalled 
the  little  beauty  whom  I  had  kissed  so  impudently.  She  blushed 
up  to  the  eyes,  and  so  did  I ;  but  we  both  passed  on  without  far 
ther  sign  of  recognition.  This  second  glimpse  of  her,  however, 
caused  an  odd  fluttering  about  my  heart.  I  could  not  get  her 
out  of  my  thoughts  for  days.  She  quite  interfered  with  my 
studies.  I  tried  to  think  of  her  as  a  mere  child,  but  it  would 
not  do  :  she  had  improved  in  beauty,  and  was  tending  toward 
womanhood ;  and  then  I  myself  was  but  little  better  than  a 
stripling.  However,  I  did  not  attempt  to  seek  after  her,  or  even 
to  find  out  who  she  was,  but  returned  doggedly  to  my  books. 
By  degrees  she  faded  from  my  thoughts,  or  if  she  did  cross  them 
occasionally,  it  was  only  to  increase  my  despondency  ;  for  I 
feared  that  with  all  my  exertions,  I  should  never  be  able  to  fit 
myself  for  the  bar,  or  enable  myself  to  support  a  wife. 

"  One  cold  stormy  evening  I  was  seated,  in  dumpish  mood, 
in  the  bar-room  of  the  inn,  looking  into  the  fire,  and  turning 
over  uncomfortable  thoughts,  when  I  was  accosted  by  some  one 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  279 


who  had  entered  the  room  without  my  perceiving  it.  I  looked 
up,  and  saw  before  me  a  tall  and,  as  I  thought,  pompous-looking 
man,  arrayed  in  small-clothes  and  knee-buckles,  with  powdered 
head,  and  shoes  nicely  blacked  and  polished ;  a  style  of  dress 
unparalleled  in  those  days,  in  that  rough  country.  I  took  a 
pique  against  him  from  the  very  portliness  of  his  appearance,  and 
stateliness  of  his  manner,  and  bristled  up  as  he  accosted  me. 
He  demanded  if  my  name  was  not  Ringwood. 

"  I  was  startled,  for  I  supposed  myself  perfectly  incog. ;  but 
I  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

" '  Your  family,  I  believe,  lives  in  Richmond.' 

"  My  gorge  began  to  rise.  '  Yes,  sir,'  replied  I,  sulkily, 
c  my  family  does  live  in  Richmond.' 

"  '  And  what,  may  I  ask,  has  brought  you  into  this  part  of 
the  country  ?' 

"  '  Zounds,  sir  ! '  cried  I,  starting  on  my  feet,  '  what  business 
is  it  of  yours  ?  How  dare  you  to  question  me  in  this  manner  1 ' 

"  The  entrance  of  some  persons  prevented  a  reply ;  but  I 
walked  up  and  down  the  bar-room,  fuming  with  conscious  inde 
pendence  and  insulted  dignity,  while  the  pompous-looking  per 
sonage,  who  had  thus  trespassed  upon  my  spleen,  retired  without 
proffering  another  word. 

"  The  next  day,  while  seated  in  my  room,  some  one  tapped 
at  the  door,  and,  on  being  bid  to  enter,  the  stranger  in  the  pow 
dered  head,  small-clothes,  and  shining  shoes  and  buckles,  walked 
in  with  ceremonious  courtesy. 

"  My  boyish  pride  was  again  in  arms ;  but  he  subdued  me. 
He  was  formal,  but  kind  and  friendly.  He  knew  my  family, 
and  understood  my  situation,  and  the  dogged  struggle  I  was 


280  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


making.  A  little  conversation,  when  my  jealous  pride  was  once 
put  to  rest,  drew  every  thing  from  me.  He  was  a  lawyer  of  ex 
perience,  arid  of  extensive  practice,  and  offered  at  once  to  take 
me  with  him,  and  direct  my  studies.  The  offer  was  too  advan 
tageous  and  gratifying  not  to  be  immediately  accepted.  From 
that  time  I  began  to  look  up.  I  was  put  into  a  proper  track, 
and  was  enabled  to  study  to  a  proper  purpose.  I  made  ac 
quaintance,  too,  with  some  of  the  young  men  of  the  place,  who 
were  in  the  same  pursuit,  and  was  encouraged  at  finding  that  I 
could  '  hold  my  own '  in  argument  with  them.  We  instituted  a 
debating  club,  in  which  I  soon  became  prominent  and  popular. 
Men  of  talents,  engaged  in  other  pursuits,  joined  it,  and  this 
diversified  our  subjects,  and  put  me  on  various  tracks  of  inquiry. 
Ladies,  too,  attended  some  of  our  discussions,  and  this  gave 
them  a  polite  tone,  and  had  an  influence  on  the  manners  of  the 
debaters.  My  legal  patron  also  may  have  had  a  favorable  effect 
in  correcting  any  roughness  contracted  in  my  hunter's  life.  He 
was  calculated  to  bend  me  in  an  opposite  direction,  for  he  was  of 
the  old  school ;  quoted  Chesterfield  on  all  occasions,  and  talked 
of  Sir  Charles  G-randison,  who  was  his  beau-ideal.  It  was  Sir 
Charles  Grandison,  however,  Kentuckyized. 

"  I  had  always  been  fond  of  female  society.  My  experience, 
however,  had  hitherto  been  among  the  rough  daughters  of  the  back 
woodsmen  ;  and  I  felt  an  awe  of  young  ladies  in  '  store  clothes,' 
and  delicately  brought  up.  Two  or  three  of  the  married  ladies 
of  Bardstown,  who  had  heard  me  at  the  debating  club,  deter 
mined  that  I  was  a  genius,  and  undertook  to  bring  me  out. 
I  believe  I  really  improved  under  their  hands;  became  quiet  where 
I  had  been  shy  or  sulky,  and  easy  where  I  had  been  impudent. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  281 


"  I  called  to  take  tea  one  evening  with  one  of  these  ladies 
when  to  my  surprise,  and  somewhat  to  my  confusion,  I  found 
with  her  the  identical  blue-eyed  little  beauty  whom  I  had  so 
audaciously  kissed.  I  was  formally  introduced  to  her,  but 
neither  of  us  betrayed  any  sign  of  previous  acquaintance,  except 
by  blushing  to  the  eyes.  While  tea  was  getting  ready,  the  lady 
of  the  house  went  out  of  the  room  to  give  some  directions,  and 
left  us  alone. 

.  "  Heavens  and  earth,  what  a  situation  !  I  would  have  given 
all  the  pittance  I  was  worth,  to  have  been  in  the  deepest  dell  of 
the  forest.  I  felt  the  necessity  of  saying  something  in  excuse 
of  my  former  rudeness,  but  I  could  not  conjure  up  an  idea,  nor 
utter  a  word.  Every  moment  matters  were  growing  worse  I 
felt  at  one  time  tempted  to  do  as  I  had  done  when  I  robbed  her 
of  the  kiss  :  bolt  from  the  room,  and  take  to  flight ;  but  I  was 
chained  to  the  spot,  for  I  really  longed  to  gain  her  good  will. 

"  At  length  I  plucked  up  courage,  on  seeing  that  she  was 
equally  confused  with  myself,  and  walking  desperately  up  to  her, 
I  exclaimed  : 

"  '  I  have  been  trying  to  muster  up  something  to  say  to  you, 
but  I  cannot.  I  feel  that  I  am  in  a  horrible  scrape.  Do  have 
pity  on  me,  and  help  me  out  of  it ! ' 

"  A  smile  dimpled  about  her  mouth,  and  played  among  the 
blushes  of  her  cheek.  She  looked  up  with  a  shy  but  arch  glance 
of  the  eye,  that  expressed  a  volume  of  comic  recollection ;  we 
both  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  from  that  moment  all  went  on  well. 

"  A  few  evenings  afterward,  I  met  her  at  a  dance,  and  prose 
cuted  the  acquaintance.  I  soon  became  deeply  attached  to  her ; 
paid  my  court  regularly  ;  and  before  I  was  nineteen  years  of 


282  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


age.  had  engaged  myself  to  marry  her.  I  spoke  to  her  mother 
a  widow  lady,  to  ask  her  consent.  She  seemed  to  demur ;  upon 
which,  with  my  customary  haste,  I  told  her  there  would  be  no 
use  in  opposing  the  match,  for  if  her  daughter  chose  to  have  me, 
I  would  take  her,  in  defiance  of  her  family,  and  the  whole  world. 

"  She  laughed,  and  told  me  I  need  not  give  myself  any  unea 
siness  ;  there  would  be  no  unreasonable  opposition.  She  knew 
my  family,  and  all  about  me.  The  only  obstacle  was,  that  I  had 
no  means  of  supporting  a  wife,  and  she  had  nothing  to  give  with 
her  daughter. 

"  No  matter ;  at  that  moment  every  thing  was  bright  before 
me.  I  was  in  one  of  my  sanguine  moods.  I  feared  nothing, 
doubted  nothing.  So  it  was  agreed  that  I  should  prosecute  my 
studies,  obtain  a  license,  and  as  soon  as  I  should  be  fairly 
launched  in  business,  we  would  be  married. 

"  I  now  prosecuted  my  studies  with  redoubled  ardor,  and  was 
up  to  my  ears  in  law,  when  I  received  a  letter  from  my  father, 
who  had  heard  of  me  and  my  whereabouts.  He  applauded  the 
course  I  had  taken,  but  advised  me  to  lay  a  foundation  of  general 
knowledge,  and  offered  to  defray  my  expenses,  if  I  would  go  to 
college.  I  felt  the  want  of  a  general  education,  and  was  staggered 
with  this  offer.  It  militated  somewhat  against  the  self-dependent 
course  I  had  so  proudly,  or  rather  conceitedly,  marked  out  for 
myself,  but  it  would  enable  me  to  enter  more  advantageously  upon 
my  legal  career.  I  talked  over  the  matter  with  the  lovely  girl  to 
whom  I  was  engaged.  She  sided  in  opinion  with  my  father,  and 
talked  so  disinterestedly,  yet  tenderly,  that  if  possible,  I  loved  her 
more  than  ever.  I  reluctantly,  therefore,  agreed  to  go  to  college 
for  a  couple  of  years,  though  it  must  necessarily  postpone  our  union. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  EALPH  RINGWOOD.  282 


"  Scarcely  had  I  formed  this  resolution,  when  her  mother  was 
taken  ill,  and  died,  leaving  her  without  a  protector.  This  again 
altered  all  my  plans.  I  felt  as  if  I  could  protect  her.  I  gave  up 
all  idea  of  collegiate  studies ;  persuaded  myself  that  by  dint  of 
industry  and  application  I  might"  overcome  the  deficiencies  of 
education,  and  resolved  to  take  out  a  license  as  soon  as  possible. 

"  That  very  autumn  I  was  admitted  to  the  bar,  and  within  a 
month  afterward,  was  married.  We  were  a  young  couple;  she 
not  much  above  sixteen,  I  not  quite  twenty;  and  both  almost  with 
out  a  dollar  in  the  world.  The  establishment  which  we  set  up  was 
suited  to  our  circumstances  :  a  log-house,  with  two  small  rooms ; 
a  bed,  a  table,  a  half  dozen  chairs,  a  half  dozen  knives  and  forks, 
a  half  dozen  spoons ;  every  thing  by  half  dozens ;  a  little  delft 
ware ;  every  thing  in  a  small  way  :  we  were  so  poor,  but  then  so 
happy ! 

"  We  had  not  been  married  many  days,  when  court  was  held 
at  a  county  town,  about  twenty-five  miles  distant.  It  was  neces 
sary  for  me  to  go  there,  and  put  myself  in  the  way  of  business : 
but  how  was  I  to  go  ?  I  had  expended  all  my  means  on  our 
establishment  ;  and  then,  it  was  hard  parting  with  my  wife  so 
soon  after  marriage.  However,  go  I  must.  Money  must  be  made, 
or  we  should  soon  have  the  wolf  at  the  door.  I  accordingly  bor 
rowed  a  horse,  and  borrowed  a  little  cash,  and  rode  off  from  my 
door,  leaving  my  wife  standing  at  it,  and  waving  her  hand  after 
me.  Her  last  look,  so  sweet  and  beaming,  went  to  my  heart.  I 
felt  as  if  I  could  go  through  fire  and  water  for  her. 

"  I  arrived  at  the  county  town,  on  a  cool  October  evening. 
The  inn  was  crowded,  for  the  court  was  to  commence  on  the  fol 
lowing  day.  I  knew  no  one,  and  wondered  how  I,  a  stranger,  and 


284  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


a  mere  youngster^  was  to  make  my  way  in  such  a  crowd,  and  to 
get  business.  The  public  room  was  thronged  with  the  idlers  of 
the  country,  who  gather  together  on  such  occasions.  There  was 
some  drinking  going  forward,  with  much  noise,  and  a  little  alter 
cation.  Just  as  I  entered  the  room,  I  saw  a  rough  bully  of  a  fel 
low,  who  was  partly  intoxicated,  strike  an  old  man.  He  came 
swaggering  by  me,  and  elbowed  me  as  he  passed.  I  immediately 
knocked  him  down,  and  kicked  him  into  the  street.  I  needed  no 
better  introduction.  In  a  moment  I  had  a  dozen  rough  shakes 
of  the  hand,  and  invitations  to  drink,  and  found  myself  quite  a 
personage  in  this  rough  assembly. 

"  The  next  morning  the  court  opened.  I  took  my  seat  among 
the  lawyers,  but  felt  as  a  mere  spectator,  not  having  a  suit  in  pro 
gress  or  prospect,  nor  having  any  idea  where  business  was  to  come 
from.  In  the  course  of  the  morning,  a  man  was  put  at  the  bar 
charged  with  passing  counterfeit  money,  and  was  asked  if  he  was 
ready  for  trial.  He  answered  in  the  negative.  He  had  been 
confined  in  a  place  where  there  were  no  lawyers,  and  had  not  had 
an  opportunity  of  consulting  any.  He  was  told  to  choose  coun 
sel  from  the  lawyers  present,  and  to  be  ready  for  trial  on  the  follow 
ing  day.  He  looked  round  the  court,  and  selected  me.  I  was 
thunderstruck.  I  could  not  tell  why  he  should  make  such  a 
choice.  I,  a  beardless  youngster  ;  unpractised  at  the  bar  ;  per 
fectly  unknown.  I  felt  diffident  yet  delighted,  and  could  have 
hugged  the  rascal. 

"  Before  leaving  the  court,  he  gave  me  one  hundred  dollars 
in  a  bag.  as  a  retaining  fee.  I  could  scarcely  believe  my  senses ; 
it  seemed  like  a  dream.  The  heaviness  of  the  fee  spoke  but 
lightly  in  favor  of  his  innocence,  but  that  was  no  affair  of  mine. 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  285 


I  was  to  be  advocate,  not  judge,  nor  jury.  I  followed  him  to 
jail,  and  learned  from  him  all  the  particulars  of  his  case : 
thence  I  went  to  the  clerk's  office,  and  took  minutes  of  the  in 
dictment.  I  then  examined  the  law  on  the  subject,  and  pre 
pared  my  brief  in  my  room.  All  this  occupied  me  until  mid 
night,  when  I  went  to  bed,  and  tried  to  sleep.  It  was  all  in 
vain.  Never  in  my  life  was  I  more  wide  awake.  A  host  of 
thoughts  and  fancies  kept  rushing  through  my  mind  :  the  shower 
of  gold  that  had  so  unexpectedly  fallen  into  my  lap  j  the  idea 
of  my  poor  little  wife  at  home,  that  I  was  to  astonish  with  my 
good  fortune  !  But  then  the  awful  responsibility  I  had  under 
taken  ! — to  speak  for  the  first  time  in  a  strange  court ;  the  ex 
pectations  the  culprit  had  evidently  formed  of  my  talents ;  all 
these,  and  a  crowd  of  similar  notions,  kept  whirling  through  my 
mind.  I  tossed  about  all  night,  fearing  the  morning  would  find 
me  exhausted  and  incompetent ;  in  a  word,  the  day  dawned  on 
me,  a  miserable  fellow  ! 

"  I  got  up  feverish  and  nervous.  I  walked  out  before  break 
fast,  striving  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and  tranquillize  my  feelings. 
It  was  a  bright  morning ;  the  air  was  pure  and  frosty.  I  bathed 
my  forehead  and  my  hands  in  a  beautiful  running  stream ;  but  I 
could  not  allay  the  fever  heat  that  raged  within.  I  returned  to 
breakfast,  but  could  not  eat.  A  single  cup  of  coffee  formed  my 
repast.  It  was  time  to  go  to  court,  and  I  went  there  with  a 
throbbing  heart.  I  believe  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  thoughts 
of  my  little  wife,  in  her  lonely  log-house,  I  should  have  given 
back  to  the  man  his  hundred  dollars,  and  relinquished  the  cause. 
I  took  my  seat,  looking,  I  am  convinced,  more  like  a  culprit 
than  the  rogue  I  was  to  defend. 


28G  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


"  When  the  time  came  for  me  to  speak,  my  heart  died  within 
me.  I  rose  embarrassed  and  dismayed,  and  stammered  in  open 
ing  my  cause.  I  went  on  from  bad  to  worse,  and  felt  as  if  I  was 
going  down  hill.  Just  then  the  public  prosecutor,  a  man  of  tal 
ents,  but  somewhat  rough  in  his  practice,  made  a  sarcastic  re 
mark  on  something  I  had  said.  It  was  like  an  electric  spark, 
and  ran  tingling  through  every  vein  in  my  body.  In  an  instant 
my  diffidence  was  gone.  My  whole  spirit  was  in  arms.  I  an 
swered  with  promptness  and  bitterness,  for  I  felt  the  cruelty  of 
such  an  attack  upon  a  novice  in  my  situation.  The  public  prose 
cutor  made  a  kind  of  apology  ;  this,  from  a  man  of  his  redoubted 
powers,  was  a  vast  concession.  I  renewed  my  argument  with  a 
fearless  glow  ;  carried  the  case  through  triumphantly,  and  the 
man  was  acquitted. 

"  This  was  the  making  of  me.  Every  body  was  curious  to 
know  who  this  new  lawyer  was,  that  had  thus  suddenly  risen  among 
them,  and  bearded  the  attorney-general  at  the  very  outset.  The 
story  of  my  debut  at  the  inn,  on  the  preceding  evening,  when  I 
had  knocked  down  a  bully,  and  kicked  him  out  of  doors,  for 
striking  an  old  man,  was  circulated,  with  favorable  exaggerations. 
Even  my  very  beardless  chin  and  juvenile  countenance  were  in  my 
favor,  for  people  gave  me  far  more  credit  than  I  really  deserved. 
The  chance  business  which  occurs  in  our  country  courts  came 
thronging  upon  me.  I  was  repeatedly  employed  in  other  causes ; 
and  by  Saturday  night,  when  the  court  closed,  and  I  had  paid  my 
bill  at  the  inn,  I  found  myself  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars 
in  silver,  three  hundred  dollars  in  notes,  and  a  horse  that  I  after 
ward  sold  for  two  hundred  dollars  more. 

((  Never  did  miser  gloat  on  his  money  with  more  delight.     I 


EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD.  287 


locked  the  door  of  my  room ;  piled  the  money  in  a  heap  upon  the 
table ;  walked  round  it ;  sat  with  my  elbows  on  the  table,  and  my 
chin  upon  my  hands,  and  gazed  upon  it.  Was  I  thinking  of  the 
money  ?  No !  I  was  thinking  of  my  little  wife  at  home. 
Another  sleepless  night  ensued ;  but  what  a  night  of  golden  fan 
cies,  and  splendid  air  castles !  As  soon  as  morning  dawned,  I 
was  up,  mounted  the  borrowed  horse  with  which  I  had  come  to 
court,  and  led  the  other,  which  I  had  received  as  a  fee.  All  the 
way  I  was  delighting  myself  with  the  thoughts  of  the  surprise  I 
had  in  store  for  my  little  wife;  for  both  of  us  had  expected 
nothing  but  that  I  should  spend  all  the  money  I  had  borrowed, 
and  should  return  in  debt. 

"  Our  meeting  was  joyous,  as  you  may  suppose :  but  I  played 
the  part  of  the  Indian  hunter,  who,  when  he  returns  from  the 
chase,  never  for  a  time  speaks  of  his  success.  She  had  prepared 
a  snug  little  rustic  meal  for  me,  and  while  it  was  getting  ready,  I 
seated  myself  at  an  old-fashioned  desk  in  one  corner,  and  began 
to  count  over  my  money,  and  put  it  away.  She  came  to  me 
before  I  had  finished,  and  asked  who  I  had  collected  the  money 
for. 

"  c  For  myself,  to  be  sure,'  replied  I,  with  affected  coolness ; 
*  I  made  it  at  court.' 

"She  looked  me  for  a  moment  in  the  face,  incredulously. 
I  tried  to  keep  my  countenance,  and  to  play  Indian,  but  it  would 
not  do.  My  muscles  began  to  twitch ;  my  feelings  all  at  once 
gave  way.  I  caught  her  in  my  arms ;  laughed,  cried,  and  danced 
about  the  room,  like  a  crazy  man.  From  that  time  forward,  wo 
never  wanted  for  money. 

"  I  had  not  been  long  in  successful  practice,  when  I  was  sur- 


288  EXPERIENCES  OF  RALPH  RINGWOOD. 


prised  one  day  by  a  visit  from  my  woodland  patron,  old  Miller. 
The  tidings  of  my  prosperity  had  reached  him  in  the  wilderness, 
and  he  had  walked  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  on  foot  to  see  me. 
By  that  time  I  had  improved  my  domestic  establishment,  and  had 
all  things  comfortable  about  me.  He  looked  around  him  with  a 
wondering  eye,  at  what  he  considered  luxuries  and  superfluities ; 
but  supposed  they  were  all  right,  in  my  altered  circumstances. 
He  said  he  did  not  know,  upon  the  whole,  but  that  I  had  acted 
for  the  best.  It  is  true,  if  game  had  continued  plenty,  it  would 
have  been  a  folly  for  me  to  quit  a  hunter's  life ;  but  hunting  was 
pretty  nigh  done  up  in  Kentucky.  The  buffalo  had  gone  to  Mis 
souri  ;  the  elk  were  nearly  gone  also ;  deer,  too,  were  growing 
scarce ;  they  might  last  out  his  time,  as  he  was  growing  old,  but 
they  were  not  worth  setting  up  life  upon.  He  had  once  lived  on 
the  borders  of  Virginia.  Game  grew  scarce  there ;  he  followed 
it  up  across  Kentucky,  and  now  it  was  again  giving  him  the  slip ; 
but  he  was  too  old  to  follow  it  farther. 

"  He  remained  with  us  three  days.  My  wife  did  every  thing 
in  her  power  to  make  him  comfortable ;  but  at  the  end  of  that 
time,  he  said  he  must  be  off  again  to  the  woods.  He  was  tired 
of  the  village,  and  of  having  so  many  people  about  him.  He  ac 
cordingly  returned  to  the  wilderness,  and  to  hunting  life.  But  I 
fear  he  did  not  make  a  good  end  of  it;  for  I  understand  that  a 
few  years  before  his  death,  he  married  Sukey  Thomas,  who  lived 
at  the  White  Oak  Run." 


THE  SEMINOLES. 

FROM  the  time  of  the  chimerical  cruisings  of  Old  Ponce  de  Leon  in 
search  of  the  Fountain  of  Youth ;  the  avaricious  expedition  of 
Pamphilo  de  Narvaez  in  quest  of  gold ;  and  the  chivalrous  enter 
prise  of  Hernando  de  Soto,  to  discover  and  conquer  a  second  Mexi 
co,  the  natives  of  Florida  have  been  continually  subjected  to  the  in 
vasions  and  encroachments  of  white  men.  They  have  resisted  them 
perseveringly  but  fruitlessly,  and  are  now  battling  amidst  swamps 
and  morasses,  for  the  last  foothold  of  their  native  soil,  with  all 
the  ferocity  of  despair.  Can  we  wonder  at  the  bitterness  of  a 
hostility  that  has  been  handed  down  from  father  to  son,  for  up 
ward  of  three  centuries,  and  exasperated  by  the  wrongs  and  mis 
eries  of  each  succeeding  generation  !  The  very  name  of  the 
savages  with  whom  we  are  fighting,  betokens  their  fallen  and 
homeless  condition.  Formed  of  the  wrecks  of  once  powerful 
tribes,  and  driven  from  their  ancient  seats  of  prosperity  and  do^ 
minion,  they  are  known  by  the  name  of  the  Seminoles,  or  "  Wan 
derers." 

Bartram,  who  travelled  through  Florida  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  last  century,  speaks  of  passing  through  a  great  extent  of 
13 


290  THE  SEMINOLES. 


ancient  Indian  fields,  now  silent  and  deserted,  overgrown  with 
forests,  orange  groves,  and  rank  vegetation,  the  site  of  the  ancient 
Alachua,  the  capital  of  a  famous  and  powerful  tribe,  who  in  days 
of  old  could  assemble  thousands  at  bull-play  and  other  athletic 
exercises  "  over  these  then  happy  fields  and  green  plains."  "Al 
most  every  step  we  take,"  adds  he,  "  over  these  fertile  heights,  disv 
covers  the  remains  and  traces  of  ancient  human  habitations  and 
cultivation." 

We  are  told  that  about  the  year  1763,  when  Florida  was  ced 
ed  by  the  Spaniards  to  the  English,  the  Indians  generally  re 
tired  from  the  towns  and  the  neighborhood  of  the  whites,  and 
burying  themselves  in  the  deep  forests,  intricate  swamps  and 
Jiomniocks,  and  vast  savannahs  of  the  interior,  devoted  themselves 
to  a  pastoral  life,  and  the  rearing  of  horses  and  cattle.  These 
are  the  people  that  received  the  name  of  the  Senrinoles,  or  Wan 
derers,  which  they  still  retain. 

Bartram  gives  a  pleasing  picture  of  them  at  the  time  he  visit 
ed  them  in  their  wilderness ;  where  their  distance  from  the 
abodes  of  the  white  man  gave  them  a  transient  quiet  and  security. 
"  This  handful  of  people,"  says  he,  "  possesses  a  vast  territory, 
all  East  and  the  greatest  part  of  West  Florida,  which  being  natu 
rally  cut  and  divided  into  thousands  of  islets,  knolls,  and  eminen 
ces,  by  the  innumerable  rivers,  lakes,  swamps,  vast  savannahs, 
and  ponds,  form  so  many  secure  retreats  and  temporary  dwelling- 
places  that  effectually  guard  them  from  any  sudden  invasions  or 
attacks  from  their  enemies ;  and  being  such  a  swampy,  hommocky 
country,  furnishes  such  a  plenty  and  variety  of  supplies  for  the 
nourishment  of  varieties  of  animals,  that  I  can  venture  to  assert, 
that  no  part  of  the  globe  so  abounds  with  wild  game,  or  creatures 
fit  for  the  food  of  man. 


THE  SEMINOLES.  291 


"  Thus  they  enjoy  a  superabundance  of  the  necessaries  and 
conveniences  of  life,  with  the  security  of  person  and  property, 
the  two  great  concerns  of  mankind.  The  hides  of  deer,  bears, 
tigers,  and  wolves,  together  with  honey,  wax,  and  other  produc 
tions  of  the  country,  purchase  their  clothing  equipage,  and  domes 
tic  utensils  from  the  whites.  They  seem  to  be  free  from  want  or 
desires.  No  cruel  enemy  to  dread ;  nothing  to  give  them  dis 
quietude,  but  the  gradual  encroachments  of  the  white  people. 
Thus  contented  and  undisturbed,  they  appear  as  blithe  and  free  as 
the  birds  of  the  air,  and  like  them  as  volatile  and  active,  tuneful 
and  vociferous.  The  visage,  action,  and  deportment  of  the  Semi- 
noles  form  the  most  striking  picture  of  happiness  in  this  life ; 
joy,  contentment,  love,  and  friendship,  without  guile  or  affecta 
tion,  seem  inherent  in  them,  or  predominant  in  their  vital  princi 
ple,  for  it  leaves  them  with  but  the  last  breath  of  life.  .  .  .  They 
are  fond  of  games  and  gambling,  and  amuse  themselves  like 
children,  in  relating  extravagant  stories,  to  cause  surprise  and 
mirth."* 

The  same  writer  gives  an  engaging  picture  of  his  treatment 
by  these  savages  : 

"  Soon  after  entering  the  forests,  we  were  met  in  the  path  by 
a  small  company  of  Indians,  smiling  and  beckoning  to  us  long 
before  we  joined  them.  This  was  a  family  of  Talahasochte,  who 
had  been  out  on  a  bunt  and  were  returning  home  loaded  with 
barbacued  meat,  hides,  and  honey.  Their  company  consisted  of 
the  man,  his  wife  and  children,  well  mounted  on  fine  horses,  with  a 
number  of  pack-horses.  The  man  offered  us  a  fawn  skin  of  honey, 

*  Bartram's  Travels  in  North  America. 


292  THE  SEMINOLES.' 


which  I  accepted,  and  at  parting  presented  him  with  some  fish 
hooks,  sewing-needles,  etc. 

"  On  our  return  to  camp  in  the  evening,  we  were  saluted  by  a 
party  of  young  Indian  warriors,  who  had  pitched  their  tents  on  a 
green  eminence  near  the  lake,  at  a  small  distance  from  our  camp, 
under  a  little  grove  of  oaks  and  palms.  This  company  consisted 
of  seven  young  Seminoles,  under  the  conduct  of  a  young  prince 
or  chief  of  Talahasochte,  a  town  southward  in  the  Isthmus. 
They  were  all  dressed  and  painted  with  singular  elegance,  and 
richly  ornamented  with  silver  plates,  chains,  etc.,  after  the  Semi- 
nole  mode,  with  waving  plumes  of  feathers  on  their  crests.  On 
our  coming  up  to  them,  they  arose  and  shook  hands ;  we  alight 
ed  and  sat  a  while  with  them  by  their  cheerful  fire. 

"  The  young  prince  informed  our  chief  that  he  was  in  pursuit 
of  a  young  fellow  who  had  fled  from  the  town,  carrying  off  with 
him  one  of  his  favorite  young  wives.  He  said,  merrily,  he  would 
have  the  ears  of  both  of  them  before  he  returned.  He  was  rather 
above  the  middle  stature,  and  the  most  perfect  human  figure  I 
ever  saw ;  of  an  amiable,  engaging  countenance,  air,  and  deport 
ment  ;  free  and  familiar  in  conversation,  yet  retaining  a  becom 
ing  gracefulness  and  dignity.  We  arose,  took  leave  of  them,  and 
crossed  a  little  vale,  covered  with  a  charming  green  turf,  already 
illuminated  by  the  soft  light  of  the  full  moon. 

"  Soon  after  joining  our  companions  at  camp,  our  neighbors, 
the  prince  and  his  associates,  paid  us  a  visit.  We  treated  them 
with  the  best  fare  we  had,  having  till  this  time  preserved  our 
spirituous  liquors.  They  left  us  with  perfect  cordiality  and  cheer 
fulness,  wishing  us  a  good  repose,  and  retired  to  their  own  camp. 
Having  a  band  of  music  with  them,  consisting  of  a  drum,  flutes 


THE  SEMINOLES.  298 


and  a  rattle-gourd,  they  entertained  us  during  the  night  with 
their  music,  vocal  and  instrumental. 

<:  There  is  a  languishing  softness  and  melancholy  air  in  the  In 
dian  convivial  songs,  especially  of  the  amorous  class,  irresistibly 
moving  attention,  and  exquisitely  pleasing,  especially  in  their 
solitary  recesses,  when  all  nature  is  silent." 

Travellers  who  have  been  among  them,  in  more  recent  times, 
before  they  had  embarked  in  their  present  desperate  struggle, 
represent  them  in  much  the  same  light ;  as  leading  a  pleasant, 
indolent  life,  in  a  climate  that  required  little  shelter  or  clothing, 
and  where  the  spontaneous  fruits  of  the  earth  furnished  subsist 
ence  without  toil.  A  cleanly  race,  delighting  in  bathing,  pass 
ing  much  of  their  time  under  the  shade  of  their  trees,  with  heaps 
of  oranges  and  other  fine  fruits  for  their  refreshment ;  talking, 
laughing,  dancing  and  sleeping.  Every  chief  had  a  fan  hanging 
to  bis  side,  made  of  featbers  of  the  wild  turkey,  the  beautiful 
pink-colored  crane,  or  the  scarlet  flamingo.  With  this  he  would 
sit  and  fan  himself  with  great  stateliness,  while  the  young  peo 
ple  danced  before  him.  The  women  joined  in  the  dances  with 
the  men,  excepting  the  war-dances.  They  wore  strings  of  tor 
toise-shells  and  pebbles  round  their  legs,  which  rattled  in  ca 
dence  to  the  music.  They  were  treated  with  more  attention 
among  the  Serninoles  than  among  most  Indian  tribes. 


294:  THE  SEMINOLES. 


OEIGIN  OF  THE  WHITE,  THE  EED,  AND  THE  BLACK  MEN, 

A   SEMINOLE   TRADITION. 

When  the  Floridas  were  erected  into  a  territory  of  the  Uni 
ted  States,  one  of  the  earliest  cares  of  the  Governor,  WILLIAM 
P.  DUVAL,  was  directed  to  the  instruction  and  civilization  of 
the  natives.  For  this  purpose  he  called  a  meeting  of  the  chiefs, 
in  which  he  informed  them  of  the  wish  of  their  Great  Father  at 
Washington  that  they  should  have  schools  and  teachers  among 
them,  and  that  their  children  should  be  instructed  like  the  chil 
dren  of  white  men.  The  chiefs  listened  with  their  customary 
silence  and  decorum  to  a  long  speech,  setting  forth  the  advanta 
ges  that  would  accrue  to  them  from  this  measure,  and  when  he 
had  concluded,  begged  the  interval  of  a  day  to  deliberate  on  it. 

On  the  following  day,  a  solemn  convocation  was  held,  at 
which  one  of  the  chiefs  addressed  the  governor  in  the  name  of 
all  the  rest.  "  My  brother,"  said  he,  "  we  have  been  thinking 
over  the  proposition  of  our  Great  Father  at  Washington,  to 
send  teachers  and  set  up  schools  among  us.  We  are  very  thank 
ful  for  the  interest  he  takes  in  our  welfare ;  but  after  much  de 
liberation,  have  concluded  to  decline  his  ofler.  What  will  do 
very  well  for  white  men,  will  not  do  for  red  men.  I  know  you 
white  men  say  we  all  come  from  the  same  father  and  mother,  but 
you  are  mistaken.  We  have  a  tradition  handed  down  from  our 
forefathers,  and  we  believe  it,  that  the  Great  Spirit,  when  he  un 
dertook  to  make  men,  made  the  black  man  ;  it  was  his  first  at 
tempt,  and  pretty  well  for  a  beginning ;  but  he  soon  saw  he  had 


WHITE,  RED,  AND  BLACK  MEN.  295 


bungled  ;  so  he  determined  to  try  his  hand  again.  He  did  so, 
and  made  the  red  man.  He  liked  him  much  better  than  the 
black  man,  but  still  he  was  not  exactly  what  he  wanted.  So  he 
tried  once  more,  and  made  the  white  man ;  and  then  he  was  sat 
isfied.  You  see,  therefore,  that  you  were  made  last,  and  that  is 
the  reason  I  call  you  my  youngest  brother. 

"  When  the  Great  Spirit  had  made  the  three  men,  he  called 
them  together  and  showed  them  three  boxes.  The  first  was 
filled  with  books,  and  maps,  and  papers ;  the  second  with  bows 
and  arrows,  knives  and  tomahawks ;  the  third  with  spades,  axes, 
hoes,  and  hammers.  '  These,  my  sons,'  said  he,  (  are  the  means 
by  which  you  are  to  live  \  choose  among  them  according  to  your 
fancy.' 

"  The  white  man,  being  the  favorite,  had  the  first  choice. 
He  passed  by  the  box  of  working-tools  without  notice  5  but  when 
he  came  to  the  weapons  for  war  and  hunting,  he  stopped  and 
looked  hard  at  them.  The  red  man  trembled,  for  he  had  set  his 
heart  upon  that  box.  The  white  man,  however,  after  looking 
upon  it  for  a  moment,  passed  on,  and  chose  the  box  of  books  and 
papers.  The  red  man's  turn  came  next ;  and  you  may  be  sure 
he  seized  with  joy  upon  the  bows  and  arrows,  and  tomahawks. 
As  to  the  black  man,  he  had  no  choice  left,  but  to  put  up  with 
the  box  of  tools. 

"  From  this  it  is  clear  that  the  Great  Spirit  intended  the 
white  man  should  learn  to  read  and  write ;  to  understand  all 
about  the  moon  and  stars ;  and  to  make  every  thing,  even  rum 
and  whiskey.  That  the  red  man  should  be  a  first-rate  hunter, 
and  a  mighty  warrior,  but  he  was  not  to  learn  any  thing  from 
books,  as  the  Great  Spirit  had  not  given  him  any  :  nor  was  he  to 


296  THE  SEMINOLES. 


make  rum  and  whiskey,  lest  he  should  kill  himself  with  drink 
ing.  As  to  the  black  man,  as  he  had  nothing  but  working-tools, 
it  was  clear  he  was  to  work  for  the  white  and  red  man,  which  he 
has  continued  to  do. 

"  We  must  go  according  to  the  wishes  of  the  Great  Spirit, 
or  we  shall  get  into  trouble.  To  know  how  to  read  and  write; 
is  very  good  for  white  men,  but  very  bad  for  red  men.  It  makes 
white  men  better,  but  red  men  worse.  Some  of  the  Creeks  and 
Cherokees  learnt  to  read  and  write,  and  they  are  the  greatest  ras 
cals  among  all  the  Indians.  They  went  on  to  Washington,  and 
said  they  were  going  to  see  their  Great  Father,  to  talk  about  the 
good  of  the  nation.  And  when  they  got  there,  they  all  wrote 
upon  a  little  piece  of  paper,  without  the  nation  at  home  know 
ing  any  thing  about  it.  And  the  first  thing  the  nation  at  home 
knew  of  the  matter,  they  were  called  together  by  the  Indian 
agent,  who  showed  them  a  little  piece  of  paper,  which  he  told 
them  was  a  treaty,  which  their  brethren  had  made  in  their  name, 
with  their  Great  Father  at  Washington.  And  as  they  knew  not 
what  a  treaty  was,  he  held  up  the  little  piece  of  paper,  and  they 
looked  under  it,  and  lo  !  it  covered  a  great  extent  of  country, 
and  they  found  that  their  brethren,  by  knowing  how  to  read  and 
write,  had  sold  their  houses,  and  their  lands,  and  the  graves  of 
their  fathers  ;  and  that  the  white  man,  by  knowing  how  to  read 
and  write,  had  gained  them.  Tell  our  Great  Father  at  Wash 
ington,  therefore,  that  we  are  very  sorry  we  cannot  receive  teach 
ers  among  us ;  for  reading  and  writing,  though  very  good  for 
white  men,  is  very  bad  for  Indians." 


CONSPIRACY  OF  NEAMATHLA.  297 


THE   CONSPIRACY    OF   NEAMATHLA. 

AN  AUTHENTIC  SKETCH. 

In  the  autumn  of  1823,  Governor  DUVAL,  and  other  commis 
sioners  on  the  part  of  the  United  States,  concluded  a  treaty  with 
the  chiefs  and  warriors  of  the  Florida  Indians,  by  which  the  lat 
ter,  for  certain  considerations,  ceded  all  claims  to  the  whole  ter 
ritory,  excepting  a  district  in  the  eastern  part,  to  which  they 
were  to  remove,  and  within  which  they  were  to  reside  for  twenty 
years.  Several  of  the  chiefs  signed  the  treaty  with  great  reluc 
tance  ;  but  none  opposed  it  more  strongly  than  NEAMATHLA,  prin 
cipal  chief  of  the  Mickasookies,  a  fierce  and  warlike  people, 
many  of  them  Creeks  by  origin,  who  lived  about  the  Mickasookie 
lake.  Neamathla  had  always  been  active  in  those  depredations 
on  the  frontiers  of  Georgia,  which  had  brought  vengeance  and 
ruin  on  the  Seminoles.  He  was  a  remarkable  man ;  upward  of 
sixty  years  of  age,  about  six  feet  high,  with  a  fine  eye,  and  a 
strongly-marked  countenance,  over  which  he  possessed  great 
command.  His  hatred  of  the  white  men  appeared  to  be  mixed 
with  contempt :  on  the  common  people  he  looked  down  with  infi 
nite  scorn.  He  seemed  unwilling  to  acknowledge  any  superiority 
of  rank  or  dignity  in  Governor  Duval,  claiming  to  associate  with 
him  on  terms  of  equality,  as  two  great  chieftains.  Though  he 
had  been  prevailed  upon  to  sign  the  treaty,  his  heart  revolted  at 
it.  In  one  of  his  frank  conversations  with  Governor  Duval.  he 
observed  :  "  This  country  belongs  to  the  red  man ;  and  if  I  had 
the  number  of  warriors  at  my  command  that  this  nation  onco 


298  THE  SEMINOLES. 


had,  I  would  not  leave  a  white  man  on  my  lands.  I  would  ex 
terminate  the  whole.  I  can  say  this  to  you,  for  you  can  under 
stand  me :  you  are  a  man ;  but  I  would  not  say  it  to  your  peo 
ple.  They'd  cry  out  I  was  a  savage,  and  would  take  my  life. 
They  cannot  appreciate  the  feelings  of  a  man  that  loves  his 
country." 

As  Florida  had  but  recently  been  erected  into  a  territory, 
every  thing  as  yet  was  in  rude  and  simple  style.  The  Governor, 
to  make  himself  acquainted  with  the  Indians,  and  to  be  near  at 
hand  to  keep  an  eye  upon  them,  fixed  his  residence  at  Tallahassee, 
near  the  Fowel  towns,  inhabited  by  the  Mickasookies.  His  gov 
ernment  palace  for  a  time  was  a  mere  log-house,  and  he  lived  on 
hunters'  fare.  The  village  of  Neamathla  was  but  about  three 
miles  off,  and  thither  the  governor  occasionally  rode,  to  visit  the 
old  chieftain.  In  one  of  these  visits,  he  found  Neamathla  seated 
in  his  wigwam,  in  the  centre  of  the  village,  surrounded  by  his 
warriors.  The  governor  had  brought  him  some  liquor  as  a  pres 
ent,  but  it  mounted  quickly  into  his  brain,  and  rendered  him 
quite  boastful  and  belligerent.  The  theme  ever  uppermost  in 
his  mind,  was  the  treaty  with  the  whites.  "  It  was  true,"  he 
said,  "  the  red  men  had  made  such  a  treaty,  but  the  white  men 
had  not  acted  up  to  it.  The  red  men  had  received  none  of  the 
money  and  the  cattle  that  had  been  promised  them  ;  the  treaty, 
therefore,  was  at  an  end,  and  they  did  not  mean  to  be  bound  by 
it." 

Governor  Duval  calmly  represented  to  him  that  the  time  ap 
pointed  in  the  treaty  for  the  payment  and  delivery  of  the  money 
and  the  cattle  had  not  yet  arrived.  This  the  old  chieftain  knew 
full  well,  but  he  chose,  for  the  moment,  to  pretend  ignorance. 


CONSPIRACY  OF  KEAMATHLA.  299 


He  kept  on  drinking  and  talking,  his  voice  growing  louder  and 
louder,  until  it  resounded  all  over  the  village.  He  held  in  his 
hand  a  long  knife,  with  which  he  had  been  rasping  tobacco  ;  this 
he  kept  nourishing  backward  and  forward,  as  he  talked,  by  way 
of  giving  effect  to  his  words,  brandishing  it  at  times  within  an 
inch  of  the  governor's  throat.  He  concluded  his  tirade  by  re 
peating,  that  the  country  belonged  to  the  red  men,  and  that  sooner 
than  give  it  up,  his  bones  and  the  bones  of  his  people  should 
bleach  upon  its  soil. 

Duval  knew  that  the  object  of  all  this  bluster  was  to  see 
whether  he  could  be  intimidated.  He  kept  his  eye,  therefore, 
fixed  steadily  on  the  chief,  and  the  moment  he  concluded  with 
his  menace,  seized  him  by  the  bosom  of  his  hunting-shirt,  and 
clinching  his  other  fist : 

"  I've  heard  what  you  have  said,"  replied  he.  "  You  have 
made  a  treaty,  yet  you  say  your  bones  shall  bleach  before  you 
comply  with  it.  As  sure  as  there  is  a  sun  in  heaven,  your  bones 
shall  bleach,  if  you  do  not  fulfil  every  article  of  that  treaty ! 
I'll  let  you  know  that  I  am  first  here,  and  will  see  that  you  do 
your  duty  ! " 

Upon  this  the  old  chieftain  threw  himself  back,  burst  into  a 
fit  of  laughing,  and  declared  that  all  he  had  said  was  in  joke. 
The  governor  suspected,  however,  that  there  was  a  grave  mean 
ing  at  the  bottom  of  this  jocularity. 

For  two  months,  every  thing  went  on  smoothly  :  the  Indiana 
repaired  daily  to  the  log- cabin  palace  of  the  governor,  at  Talla 
hassee,  and  appeared  perfectly  contented.  All  at  once  they 
ceased  their  visits,  and  for  three  or  four  days  not  one  was  to  be 
seen.  Governor  Duval  began  to  apprehend  that  some  mischief 


300  THE  SEMINOLES. 


was  brewing.  On  the  evening  of  the  fourth  day,  a  chief  named 
Yellow- Hair,  a  resolute,  intelligent  fellow,  who  had  always 
evinced  an  attachment  for  the  governor,  entered  his  cabin  about 
twelve  o'clock  at  night,  and  informed  him,  that  between  four  and 
five  hundred  warriors,  painted  and  decorated,  were  assembled  to 
hold  a  secret  war-talk  at  Nearnathla's  town.  He  had  slipped  off 
to  give  intelligence,  at  the  risk  of  his  life,  and  hastened  back 
lest  his  absence  should  be  discovered. 

Governor  Duval  passed  an  anxious  night  after  this  intelli 
gence.  He  knew  the  talent  and  the  daring  character  of  Nea- 
mathla  ;  he  recollected  the  threats  he  had  thrown  out ;  he  reflected 
that  about  eighty  white  families  were  scattered  widely  apart? 
over  a  great  extent  of  country,  and  might  be  swept  away  at  once, 
should  the  Indians,  as  he  feared,  determine  to  clear  the  country. 
That  he  did  not  exaggerate  the  dangers  of  the  case,  has  been 
proved  by  the  horrid  scenes  of  Indian  warfare  which  have  since 
desolated  that  devoted  region.  After  a  night  of  sleepless  cogi 
tation  Duval  determined  on  a  measure  suited  to  his  prompt  and 
resolute  character.  Knowing  the  'admiration  of  the  savages  for 
personal  courage,  he  determined,  by  a  sudden  surprise,  to  en 
deavor  to  overawe  and  check  them.  It  was  hazarding  much ; 
but  where  so  many  lives  were  in  jeopardy,  he  felt  bound  to  incur 
the  hazard. 

Accordingly,  on  the  next  morning,  he  set  off  on  horseback, 
attended  merely  by  a  white  man,  who  had  been  reared  among 
the  Seminoles,  and  understood  their  language  and  manners,  and 
who  acted  as  interpreter.  They  struck  into  an  Indian  "  trail," 
leading  to  Neamathla's  vilage.  After  proceeding  about  half  a 
mile,  Governor  Duval  informed  the  interpreter  of  the  object  of 


CONSPIRACY  OF  NEAMATHLA.  301 


his  expedition.  The  latter,  though  a  bold  man,  paused  and  re 
monstrated.  The  Indians  among  whom  they  were  going  were 
among  the  most  desperate  and  discontented  of  the  nation.  Many 
of  them  were  veteran  warriors,  impoverished  and  exasperated  by 
defeat,  and  ready  to  set  their  lives  at  any  hazard.  He  said  that 
if  they  were  holding  a  war  council,  it  must  be  with  desperate 
intent,  and  it  would  be  certain  death  to  intrude  among  them. 

Duval  made  light  of  his  apprehensions:  he  said  he  was  per 
fectly  well  acquainted  with  the  Indian  character,  and  should 
certainly  proceed.  So  saying,  he  rode  on.  When  within  half  a 
mile  of  the  village,  the  interpreter  addressed  him  a.gain>  in  such 
a  tremulous  tone,  that  Duval  turned  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 
He  was  deadly  pale,  and  once  more  urged  the  governor  to  return, 
as  they  would  certainly  be  massacred  if  they  proceeded. 

Duval  repeated  his  determination  to  go  on,  but  advised  the 
other  to  return,  lest  his  pale  face  should  betray  fear  to  the  In 
dians,  and  they  might  take  advantage  of  it.  The  interpreter 
replied  that  he  would  rather  die  a  thousand  deaths,  than  have  it 
said  he  had  deserted  his  leader  when  in  peril. 

Duval  then  told  him  he  must  translate  faithfully  all  he  should 
say  to  the  Indians,  without  softening  a  word.  The  interpreter 
promised  faithfully  to  do  so,  adding  that  he  well  knew,  when 
they  were  once  in  the  town,  nothing  but  boldness  could  save 
them. 

They  now  rode  into  the  village  and  advanced  to  the  council- 
house.  This  was  rather  a  group  of  four  houses,  forming  a  square, 
in  the  centre  of  which  was  a  great  council  fire.  The  houses  were 
open  in  front,  toward  the  fire,  and  closed  in  the  rear.  At  each 
corner  of  the  square,  there  was  an  interval  between  the  houses, 
for  ingress  and  egress.  In  these  houses  sat  the  old  men  and  the 


302  THE  SEMINOLES. 


chiefs;  the  young  men  were  gathered  round  the  fire.  Neamathla 
presided  at  the  council,  elevated  on  a  higher  seat  than  the  rest. 

Governor  Duval  entered  by  one  of  the  corner  intervals,  and 
rode  boldly  into  the  centre  of  the  square.  The  young  men  made 
way  for  him ;  an  old  man  who  was  speaking,  paused  in  the  midst 
of  his  harangue.  In  an  instant  thirty  or  forty  rifles  were  cocked 
and  levelled.  Never  had  Duval  heard  so  loud  a  click  of  triggers \ 
it  seemed  to  strike  to  his  heart.  He  gave  one  glance  at  the  In 
dians,  and  turned  off  with  an  air  of  contempt.  He  did  not  dare, 
he  says,  to  look  again,  lest  it  might  affect  his  nerves,  and  on  the 
firmness  of  his  nerves  every  thing  depended. 

The  chief  threw  up  his  arm.  The  rifles  were  lowered.  Duval 
breathed  more  freely ;  he  felt  disposed  to  leap  from  his  horse,  but 
restrained  himself,  and  dismounted  leisurely.  He  then  walked 
deliberately  up  to  Neamathla,  and  demanded,  in  an  authoritative 
tone,  what  were  his  motives  for  holding  that  conncil.  The 
moment  he  made  this  demand,  the  orator  sat  down.  The  chief 
made  no  reply,  but  hung  his  head  in  apparent  confusion.  After 
a  moment's  pause,  Duval  proceeded  : 

"I  am  well  aware  of  the  meaning  of  this  war- council ;  and 
deem  it  my  duty  to  warn  you  against  prosecuting  the  schemes 
you  have  been  devising.  If  a  single  hair  of  a  white  man  in  this 
country  falls  to  the  ground,  I  will  hang  you  and  your  chiefs  on 
the  trees  around  your  council-house !  You  cannot  pretend  to 
withstand  the  power  of  the  white  men.  You  are  in  the  palm  of 
the  hand  of  your  Great  Father  at  Washington,  who  can  crush 
you  like  an  egg-shell !  You  may  kill  me  ;  I  am  but  one  man ; 
but  recollect,  white  men  are  numerous  as  the  leaves  on  the  trees. 
Remember  the  fate  $f  your  warriors  whose*bones  are  whitening 
in  battle-fields.  Remember  your  wives  and  children  who  perished 


CONSPIRACY  OF  NEAMATHLA.  303 


in  swamps.  Do  you  want  to  provoke  more  hostilities  ?  Another 
war  with  the  white  men,  and  there  will  not  be  a  Seminole  left  to 
tell  the  story  of  his  race." 

Seeing  the  effect  of  his  words,  he  concluded  by  appointing  a 
day  for  the  Indians  to  meet  him  at  St.  Marks,  and  give  an  ac 
count  of  their  conduct.  He  then  rode  off,  without  giving  them 
time  to  recover  from  their  surprise.  That  night  he  rode  forty 
miles  to  Apalachicola  River,  to  the  tribe  of  the  same  name,  who 
were  in  feud  with  the  Seminoles.  They  promptly  put  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  warriors  at  his  disposal,  whom  he  ordered  to  be  at 
St.  Marks  at  the  appointed  day.  He  sent  out  runners,  also,  and 
mustered  one  hundred  of  the  militia  to  repair  to  the  same  place, 
together  with  a  number  of  regulars  from  the  army.  All  his  ar 
rangements  were  successful. 

Having  taken  these  measures,  he  returned  to  Tallahassee,  to 
the  neighborhood  of  the  conspirators,  to  show  them  that  he  was 
not  afraid.  Here  he  ascertained,  through  Yellow- Hair,  that 
nine  towns  were  disaffected,  and  had  been  concerned  in  the  con 
spiracy.  He  was  careful  to  inform  himself,  from  the  same 
source,  of  the  names  of  the  warriors  in  each  of  those  towns  who 
were  most  popular,  though  poor,  and  destitute  of  rank  and 
command. 

When  the  appointed  day  was  at  hand  for  the  meeting  at  St. 
Marks,  Governor  Duval  set  off  with  Neamathla,  who  was  at  the 
head  of  eight  or  nine  hundred  warriors,  but  who  feared  to  venture 
into  the  fort  without  him.  As  they  entered  the  fort,  and  saw 
troops  and  militia  drawn  up  there,  and  a  force  of  Apalachicola 
soldiers  stationed  on  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river,  they  thought 
they  were  betrayed,  and  were  about  to  fly ;  but  Duval  assured 


304  THE  SEMINOLES. 


them  they  were  safe,  and  that  when  the  talk  was  over,  they  might 
go  home  unmolested. 

A  grand  talk  was  now  held,  in  which  the  late  conspiracy 
was  discussed.  As  he  had  foreseen.  Neamathla  and  the  other 
old  chiefs  threw  all  the  blame  upon  the  young  men.  "Well," 
replied  Duval,  "  with  us  white  men,  when  we  find  a  man  incom 
potent  to  govern  those  under  him,  we  put  him  down,  and  appoint 
another  in  his  place.  Now,  as  you  all  acknowledge  you  cannot 
manage  your  young  men,  we  must  put  chiefs  over  them  who  can." 

So  saying,  he  deposed  Neamathla  first;  appointing  another 
in  his  place  ;  and  so  on  with  all  the  rest ;  taking  care  to  sub 
stitute  the  warriors  who  had  been  pointed  out  to  him  as  poor 
and  popular ;  putting  medals  round  their  necks,  and  investing 
them  with  great  ceremony.  The  Indians  were  surprised  and 
delighted  at  finding  the  appointments  fall  upon  the  very  men 
they  would  themselves  have  chosen,  and  hailed  them  with  ac 
clamations.  The  warriors  thus  unexpectedly  elevated  to  com 
mand,  and  clothed  with  dignity,  were  secured  to  the  interests  of 
the  governor,  and  sure  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  disaffected.  As  to 
the  great  chief  Neamathla,  he  left  the  country  in  disgust,  and 
returned  to  the  Creek  Nation,  who  elected  him  a  chief  of  one  of 
their  towns.  Thus  by  the  resolute  spirit  and  prompt  sagacity 
of  one  man,  a  dangerous  conspiracy  was  completely  defeated. 
Governor  Duval  was  afterwards  enabled  to  remove  the  whole 
nation,  through  his  own  personal  influence,  without  the  aid  of 
the  General  Government. 

NOTE. — The  foregoing  anecdotes  concerning  the  Seminoles, 
were  gathered  in  conversation  with  Governor  Duval  (the  original 
of  Ralph  Ringwood). 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 

DURING  the  minority  of  Louis  XV.,  while  the  Duke  of  Orleans 
was  Regent  of  France,  a  young  Flemish  nobleman,  the  Count 
Antoine  Joseph  Van  Horn,  made  his  sudden  appearance  in 
Paris,  and  by  his  character,  conduct,  and  the  subsequent  disas 
ters  in  which  he  became  involved,  created  a  great  sensation  in 
the  high  circles  of  the  proud  aristocracy.  He  was  about  twenty- 
two  years  of  age,  tall,  finely  formed,  with  a  pale,  romantic  coun 
tenance,  and  eyes  of  remarkable  brilliancy  and  wildness. 

He  was  one  of  the  most  ancient  and  highly-esteemed  families 
of  European  nobility,  being  of  the  line  of  the  Princes  of  Horn 
and  Overique,  sovereign  Counts  of  Hautekerke,  and  hereditary 
Grand  Veneurs  of  the  empire.  \ 

The  family  took  its  name  from  the  little  town  and  seigneurie 
of  Horn,  in  Brabant ;  and  was  known  as  early  as  the  eleventh 
century  among  the  little  dynasties  of  the  Netherlands,  and  since 
that  time,  by  a  long  line  of  illustrious  generations.  At  the 
peace  of  Utrecht,  when  the  Netherlands  passed  under  subjection 
to  Austria,  the  house  of  Van  Horn  came  under  the  domination 
of  the  emperor.  At  the  time  we  treat  of,  two  of  the  branches 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN 


of  this  ancient  house  were  extinct ;  the  third  and  only  surviving 
branch  was  represented  by  the  reigning  prince,  Maximilian 
Emanuel  Van  Horn,  twenty-four  years  of  age,  who  resided  in 
honorable  and  courtly  style  on  his  hereditary  domains  at  Baus- 
signy,  in  the  Netherlands,  and  his  brother  the  Count  Antoine 
Joseph,  who  is  the  subject  of  this  memoir. 

The  ancient  house  of  Yan  Horn,  by  the  intermarriage  of  its 
various  branches  with  the  noble  families  of  the  continent,  had 
become  widely  connected  and  interwoven  with  the  high  aristoc 
racy  of  Europe.  The  Count  Antoine,  therefore,  could  claim  re 
lationship  to  many  of  the  proudest  names  in  Paris.  In  fact,  he 
was  grandson,  by  the  mother's  side,  of  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  and 
even  might  boast  of  affinity  to  the  Regent  (the  Duke  of  Orleans) 
himself.  There  were  circumstances,  however,  connected  with 
his  sudden  appearance  in  Paris,  and  his  previous  story,  that 
placed  him  in  what  is  termed  "  a  false  position;"  a  word  of  bale 
ful  significance  in  the  fashionable  vocabulary  of  France. 

The  young  Count  had  been  a  captain  in  the  service  of  Aus 
tria,  but  had  been  cashiered  for  irregular  conduct,  and  for  disre 
spect  to  Prince  Louis  of  Baden,  commander-in-chief.  To  check 
him  in  his  wild  .career,  and  bring  him  to  sober  reflection,  his 
brother  the  Prince  caused  him  to  be  arrested,  and  sent  to  the 
old  castle  of  Yan  Wert,  in  the  domains  of  Horn.  This  was  the 
same  castle  in  which,  in  former  times,  John  Yan  Horn,  Stadt- 
holder  of  Gueldres,  had  imprisoned  his  father ;  a  circumstance 
which  has  furnished  Rembrandt  with  the  subject  of  an  admirable 
painting.  The  governor  of  the  castle  was  one  Yan  Wert,  grand 
son  of  the  famous  John  Yan  Wert,  the  hero  of  many  a  popular 
eong  and  legend.  It  was  the  intention  of  the  Prince  that  his 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  307 


brother  should  be  held  in  honorable  durance,  for  his  object  was 
to  sober  and  improve,  not  to  punish  and  afflict  him.  Van  Wert; 
however,  was  a  stern,  harsh  man,  of  violent  passions.  He 
treated  the  youth  in  a  manner  that  prisoners  and  offenders  were 
treated  in  the  strongholds  of  the  robber  counts  of  Germany,  in 
old  times  ;  confined  him  in  a  dungeon,  and  inflicted  on  him  such 
hardships  and  indignities,  that  the  irritable  temperament  of  the 
young  count  was  roused  to  continual  fury,  which  ended  in  in 
sanity.  For  six  months  was  the  unfortunate  youth  kept  in  this 
horrible  state,  without  his  brother  the  Prince  being  informed  of 
his  melancholy  condition,  or  of  the  cruel  treatment  to  which  he 
was  subjected.  At  length,  one  day,  in  a  paroxysm  of  frenzy, 
the  Count  knocked  down  two  of  his  gaolers  with  a  beetle,  escaped 
from  the  castle  of  Yan  Wert,  and  eluded  all  pursuit ;  and  after 
roving  about  in  a  state  of  distraction,  made  his  way  to  Baus- 
signy,  and  appeared  like  a  spectre  before  his  brother. 

The  Prince  was  shocked  at  his  wretched,  emaciated  appear 
ance,  and  his  lamentable  state  of  mental  alienation.  He  re 
ceived  him  with  the  most  compassionate  tenderness ;  lodged  him 
in  his  own  room  ;  appointed  three  servants  to  attend  and  watch 
over  him  day  and  night ;  and  endeavored,  by  the  most  soothing 
and  affectionate  assiduity,  to  atone  for  the  past  act  of  rigor  with 
which  he  reproached  himself.  When  he  learned,  however,  the 
manner  in  which  his  unfortunate  brother  had  been  treated  in 
confinement,  and  the  course  of  brutalities  that  had  led  to  his 
mental  malady,  he  was  aroused  to  indignation.  His  first  step 
was  to  cashier  Van  Wert  from  his  command.  That  violent  man 
set  the  Prince  at  defiance,  and  attempted  to  maintain  himself  in 
his  government  and  his  castle,  by  instigating  the  peasants,  for 


308  THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


several  leagues  round,  to  revolt.  His  insurrection  might  have 
been  formidable  against  the  power  of  a  petty  prince  ;  but  he  was 
put  under  the  ban  of  the  empire,  and  seized  as  a  state  prisoner. 
The  memory  of  his  grandfather,  the  oft-sung  John  Van  Wert, 
alone  saved  him  from  a  gibbet ;  but  he  was  imprisoned  in  the 
strong  tower  of  Horn-op-Zee.  There  he  remained  until  he  was 
eighty-two  years  of  age,  savage,  violent,  and  unconquered  to  the 
last ;  for  we  are  told  that  he  never  ceased  fighting  and  thump 
ing,  as  long  as  he  could  close  a  fist  or  wield  a  cudgel. 

In  the  mean  time,  a  course  of  kind  and  gentle  treatment  and 
wholesome  regimen,  and  above  all,  the  tender  and  affectionate 
assiduity  of  his  brother,  the  Prince,  produced  the  most  salutary 
effects  upon  Count  Antoine.  He  gradually  recovered  his  rea 
son  ;  but  a  degree  of  violence  seemed  always  lurking  at  the  bot 
tom  of  his  character,  and  he  required  to  be  treated  with  the 
greatest  caution  and  mildness,  for  the  least  contradiction  exas 
perated  him. 

In  this  state  of  mental  convalescence,  he  began  to  find  the 
supervision  and  restraints  of  brotherly  affection  insupportable  ; 
so  he  left  the  Netherlands  furtively,  and  repaired  to  Paris, 
whither,  in  fact,  it  is  said  he  was  called  by  motives  of  interest, 
to  make  arrangements  concerning  a  valuable  estate  which  he  in 
herited  from  his  relative  the  Princess  d'Epinay. 

On  his  arrival  in  Paris,  he  called  upon  the  Marquis  of  Cre- 
qui,  and  other  of  the  high  nobility  with  whom  he  was  connected. 
He  was  received  with  great  courtesy ;  but,  as  he  brought  no  let 
ters  from  his  elder  brother,  the  Prince,  and  as  various  circum 
stances  of  his  previous  history  had  transpired,  they  did  not  re 
ceive  him  into  their  families,  nor  introduce  him  to  their  ladies. 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  809 


Still  they  feted  him  in  bachelor  style,  gave  him  gay  and  elegant 
suppers  at  their  separate  apartments,  and  took  him  to  their 
boxes  at  the  theatres.  He  was  often  noticed,  too,  at  the  doors 
of  the  most  fashionable  churches,  taking  his  stand  among  the 
young  men  of  fashion  ;  and  at  such  times,  his  tall,  elegant  figure, 
his  pale  but  handsome  countenance,  and  his  flashing  eyes,  distin 
guished  him  from  among  the  crowd ;  and  the  ladies  declared 
that  it  was  almost  impossible  to  support  his  ardent  gaze. 

The  Count  did  not  afflict  himself  much  at  his  limited  circu 
lation  in  the  fastidious  circles  of  the  high  aristocracy.  He 
relished  society  of  a  wilder  and  less  ceremonious  cast ;  and 
meeting  with  loose  companions  to  his  taste,  soon  ran  into  all  the 
excesses  of  the  capital,  in  that  most  licentious  period.  It  i& 
said  that,  in  the  course  of  his  wild  career,  he  had  an  intrigue 
with  a  lady  of  quality,  a  favorite  of  the  Regent ;  that  he  waf 
surprised  by  that  prince  in  one  of  his  interviews ;  that  sharj 
words  passed  between  them ;  and  that  the  jealousy  and  ven 
geance  thus  awakened,  ended  only  with  his  life. 

About  this  time,  the  famous  Mississippi  scheme  of  Law  wa 
at  its  height,  or  rather  it  began  to  threaten  that  disastrous  ca 
tastrophe  which  convulsed  the  whole  financial  world.  Every 
effort  was  making  to  keep  the  bubble  inflated.  The  vagrant 
population  of  France  was  swept  off  from  the  streets  at  night, 
and  conveyed  to  Havre  de  Grace,  to  be  shipped  to  the  projected 
colonies  ;  even  laboring  people  and  mechanics  were  thus  crimped 
and  spirited  away.  As  Count  Antoine  was  in  the  habit  of  sally 
ing  forth  at  night,  in  disguise,  in  pursuit  of  his  pleasures,  he 
came  near  being  carried  off  by  a  gang  of  crimps  ;  it  seemed,  in 
fact,  as  if  they  had  been  lying  in  wait  for  him,  as  he  had  expe« 


310  THE  COUNT  YAN  HORN. 


rienced  very  rough  treatment  at  their  hands.  Complaint  was 
made  of  his  case  by  his  relation,  the  Marquis  de  Crequi,  who 
took  much  interest  in  the  youth  ;  but  the  Marquis  received  mys 
terious  intimations  not  to  interfere  in  the  matter,  but  to  advise 
the  Count  to  quit  Paris  immediately  :  "  If  he  lingers,  he  is 
lost  !  "  This  has  been  cited  as  a  proof  that  vengeance  was  dog 
ging  at  the  heels  of  the  unfortunate  youth,  and  only  watching 
for  an  opportunity  to  destroy  him. 

Such  opportunity  occurred  but  too  soon.  Among  the  loose 
companions  with  whom  the  Count  had  become  intimate,  were 
two  who  lodged  in  the  same  hotel  with  him.  One  was  a  youth 
only  twenty  years  of  age,  who  passed  himself  off  as  the  Cheva 
lier  d'Etampes,  but  whose  real  name  was  Lestang,  the  prodigal 
son  of  a  Flemish  banker.  The  other,  named  Laurent  de  Mille, 
a  Piedmontese,  was  a  cashiered  captain,  and  at  the  time  an 
esquire  in  the  service  of  the  dissolute  Princess  de  Carignan,  who 
kept  gambling-tables  in  her  palace.  It  is  probable  that  gam 
bling  propensities  had  brought  these  young  men  together,  and 
that  their  losses  had  driven  them  to  desperate  measures ;  cer 
tain  it  is,  that  all  Paris  was  suddenly  astounded  by  a  murder 
which  they  were  said  to  have  committed.  What  made  the  crime 
more  startling,  was,  that  it  seemed  connected  with  the  great 
Mississippi  scheme,  at  that  time  the  fruitful  source  of  all  kinds 
of  panics  and  agitations.  A  Jew,  a  stock-broker,  who  dealt 
largely  in  shares  of  the  bank  of  Law,  founded  on  the  Mississippi 
scheme,  was  the  victim.  The  story  of  his  death  is  variously  re 
lated.  The  darkest  account  states,  that  the  Jew  was  decoyed 
by  these  young  men  into  an  obscure  tavern,  under  pretext  of  ne 
gotiating  with  him  for  bank  shares,  to  the  amount  of  one  hundred 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  811 


thousand  crowns,  which  he  had  with  him  in  his  pocket-book. 
Lestang  kept  watch  upon  the  stairs.  The  Count  and  De  Mille 
entered  with  the  Jew  into  a  chamber.  In  a  little  while  there 
were  heard  cries  and  struggles  from  within.  A  waiter  passing 
by  the  room,  looked  in,  and  seeing  the  Jew  weltering  in  his 
blood,  shut  the  door  again,  double-locked  it,  and  alarmed  the 
house.  Lestang  rushed  down  stairs,  made  his  way  to  the  hotel, 
secured  his  most  portable  effects,  and  fled  the  country.  The 
Count  and  De  Mille  endeavored  to  escape  by  the  window,  but 
were  both  taken,  and  conducted  to  prison. 

A  circumstance  which  occurs  in  this  part  of  the  Count's 
story,  seems  to  point  him  out  as  a  fated  man.  His  mother,  and 
his  brother,  the  Prince  Van  Horn,  had  received  intelligence 
some  time  before  at  Baussigny,  of  the  dissolute  life  the  Count 
was  leading  at  Paris,  and  of  his  losses  at  play.  They  despatched 
a  gentleman  of  the  Prince's  household  to  Paris,  to  pay  the  debts 
of  the  Count,  and  persuade  him  to  return  to  Flanders ;  or,  if  he 
should  refuse,  to  obtain  an  order  from  the  Regent  for  him  to 
quit  the  capital.  Unfortunately  the  gentleman  did  not  arrive  at 
Paris  until  the  day  after  the  murder. 

The  news  of  the  Count's  arrest  and  imprisonment,  on  a 
charge  of  murder,  caused  a  violent  sensation  among  the  high 
aristocracy.  All  those  connected  with  him,  who  had  treated 
him  hitherto  with  indifference,  found  their  dignity  deeply  in 
volved  in  the  question  of  his  guilt  or  innocence.  A  general  con 
vocation  was  held  at  the  hotel  of  the  Marquis  de  Crequi,  of  all 
the  relatives  and  allies  of  the  house  of  Horn.  It  was  an  assem 
blage  of  the  most  proud  and  aristocratic  personages  of  Paris. 
Inquiries  were  made  into  the  circumstances  of  the  affair.  It 


812  THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


was  ascertained,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  Jew  was  dead,  and 
that  he  had  been  killed  by  several  stabs  of  a  poniard.  In  escap 
ing  by  the  window,  it  was  said  that  the  Count  had  fallen,  and 
been  immediately  taken  ;  but  that  De  Mille  had  fled  through 
the  streets,  pursued  by  the  populace,  and  had  been  arrested  at 
some  distance  from  the  scene  of  the  murder  ;  that  the  Count  had 
declared  himself  innocent  of  the  death  of  the  Jew,  and  that  he 
had  risked  his  own  life  in  endeavoring  to  protect  him  ;  but  that 
De  Mille  on  being  brought  back  to  the  tavern,  confessed  to  a 
plot  to  murder  the  broker,  and  rob  him  of  his  pocket-book,  and 
inculpated  the  Count  in  the  crime. 

Another  version  of  the  story  was,  that  the  Count  Van  Horn 
had  deposited  with  the  broker  bank  shares  to  the  amount  of 
eighty-eight  thousand  livres ;  that  he  had  sought  him  in  this 
tavern,  which  was  one  of  his  resorts,  and  had  demanded  the 
shares ;  that  the  Jew  had  denied  the  deposit ;  that  a  quarrel  had 
ensued,  in  the  course  of  which  the  Jew  struck  the  Count  in  the 
face ;  that  the  latter,  transported  with  rage,  had  snatched  up  a 
knife  from  a  table,  and  wounded  the  Jew  in  the  shoulder ;  and 
that  thereupon  De  Mille,  who  was  present,  and  who  had  likewise 
been  defrauded  by  the  broker,  fell  on  him,  and  despatched  him 
with  blows  of  a  poniard,  and  seized  upon  his  pocket-book :  that 
he  had  offered  to  divide  the  contents  of  the  latter  with  the  Count, 
pro  rata,  of  what  the  usurer  had  defrauded  them  ;  that  the  latter 
had  refused  the  proposition  with  disdain,  and  that,  at  a  noise  of 
persons  approaching,  both  had  attempted  to  escape  from  the  pre 
mises,  but  had  been  taken. 

Regard  the  story  in  any  way  they  might,  appearances  were 
terribly  against  the  Count,  and  the  noble  assemblage  was  in  great 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  313 


consternation.  What  was  to  be  done  to  ward  off  so  foul  a  dis 
grace  and  to  save  their  illustrious  escutcheons  from  this  murder 
ous  stain  of  blood  ?  Their  first  attempt  was  to  prevent  the  affair 
from  going  to  trial,  and  their  relative  from  being  dragged  before 
a  criminal  tribunal,  on  so  horrible  ancj.  degrading  a  charge.  They 
applied,  therefore,  to  the  Regent,  to  intervene  his  power  ;  to  treat 
the  Count  as  having  acted  under  an  access  of  his  mental  malady ; 
and  to  shut  him  up  in  a  madhouse.  The  Regent  was  deaf  to 
their  solicitations.  He  replied,  coldly,  that  if  the  Count  was  a 
madman,  one  could  not  get  rid  too  quickly  of  madmen  who  were 
furious  in  their  insanity.  The  crime  was  too  public  and  atro 
cious  to  be  hushed  up,  or  slurred  over ;  justice  must  take  its 
course. 

Seeing  there  was  no  avoiding  the  humiliating  scene  of  a  public 
trial,  the  noble  relatives  of  the  Count  endeavored  to  predispose 
the  minds  of  the  magistrates  before  whom  he  was  to  be  arraigned. 
They  accordingly  made  urgent  and  eloquent  representations  of 
the  high  descent,  and  noble  and  powerful  connections  of  the  Count; 
set  forth  the  circumstances  of  his  early  history ;  his  mental  mal 
ady  ;  the  nervous  irritability  to  which  he  was  subject,  and  his  e^:- 
treme  sensitiveness  to  insult  or  contradiction.  By  these  means, 
they  sought  to  prepare  the  judges  to  interpret  every  thing  in  favor 
of  the  Count,  and,  even  if  it  should  prove  that  he  had  inflicted  the 
mortal  blow  on  the  usurer,  to  attribute  it  to  access  of  insanity 
provoked  by  insult. 

To  give  full  effect  to  these  representations,  the  noble  conclave 

determined  to  bring  upon  the  judges  the  dazzling  rays  of  the  whole 

assembled  aristocracy.    Accordingly,  on  the  day  that  the  trial  took 

place,  the  relations  of  the  Count,  to  the  number  of  fifty-seven  per- 

14 


314  THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


sons,  of  both  sexes,  and  of  the  highest  rank,  repaired  in  a  body  to 
the  Palace  of  Justice,  and  took  their  stations  in  a  long  corridor 
which  led  to  the  court-room.  Here,  as  the  judges  entered,  they 
had  to  pass  in  review  this  array  of  lofty  and  noble  personages, 
who  saluted  them  mournfully  and  significantly,  as  they  passed. 
Any  one  conversant  with  the  stately  pride  and  jealous  dignity  of 
the  French  noblesse  of  that  day,  may  imagine  the  extreme  state 
of  sensitiveness  that  produced  this  self-abasement.  It  was  confi 
dently  presumed,  however,  by  the  noble  suppliants,  that  having 
once  brought  themselves  to  this  measure,  their  influence  over  the 
tribunal  would  be  irresistible.  There  was  one  lady  present,  how 
ever,  Madame  de  Beauffremont,  who  was  affected  with  the  Scot 
tish  gift  of  second  sight,  and  related  such  dismal  and  sinister  ap 
paritions  as  passing  before  her  eyes,  that  many  of  her  female 
companions  were  filled  with  doleful  presentiments. 

Unfortunately  for  the  Count,  there  was  another  interest  at 
work,  more  powerful  even  than  the  high  aristocracy.  The  infa 
mous  but  all-potent  Abbe  Dubois,  the  grand  favorite  and  bosom 
counsellor  of  the  Regent,  was  deeply  interested  in  the  scheme  of 
Law,  and  the  prosperity  of  his  bank,  and  of  course  in  the  security 
of  the  stock- brokers.  Indeed,  the  Regent  himself  is  said  to  have 
dipped  deep  in  the  Mississippi  scheme.  Dubois  and  Law,  there 
fore,  exerted  their  influence  to  the  utmost  to  have  the  tragic  affair 
pushed  to  the  extremity  of  the  law,  and  the  murder  of  the  broker 
punished  in  the  most  signal  and  appalling  manner.  Certain  it  is, 
the  trial  was  neither  long  nor  intricate.  The  Count  and  his  fel 
low-prisoner  were  equally  inculpated  in  the  crime,  and  both  were 
condemned  to  a  death  the  most  horrible  and  ignominious — to  be 
broken  alive  on  the  wheel ! 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  315 


As  soon  as  the  sentence  of  the  court  was  made  public,  all  the 
nobility,'  in  any  degree  related  to  the  house  of  Van  Horn,  went 
into  mourning.  Another  grand  aristocratical  assemblage  was 
held,  and  a  petition  to  the  Regent,  on  behalf  of  the  Count,  was 
drawn  out  and  left  with  the  Marquis  de  Crequi  for  signature. 
This  petition  set  forth  the  previous  insanity  of  the  Count,  and 
showed  that  it  was  an  hereditary  malady  in  his.family.  It  stated 
various  circumstances  in  mitigation  of  his  offence,  and  implored 
that  his  sentence  might  be  commuted  to  perpetual  imprisonment. 

Upward  of  fifty  names  of  the  highest  nobility,  beginning  with 
the  Prince  de  Ligne,  and  including  cardinals,  archbishops,  dukes, 
marquises,  etc.  together  with  ladies  of  equal  rank,  were  signed  to 
this  petition.  By  one  of  the  caprices  of  human  pride  and  vanity, 
it  became  an  object  of  ambition  to  get  enrolled  among  the  illus 
trious  suppliants ;  a  kind  of  testimonial  of  noble  blood,  to  prove 
relationship  to  a  murderer !  The  Marquis  de  Crequi  was  abso 
lutely  besieged  by  applicants  to  sign,  and  had  to  refer  their 
claims  to  this  singular  honor,  to  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  the  grand 
father  of  the  Count.  Many  who  were  excluded  were  highly  in 
censed,  and  numerous  feuds  took  place.  Nay,  the  affronts  thus 
given  to  the  morbid  pride  of  some  aristocratical  families,  passed 
from  generation  to  generation ;  for,  fifty  years  afterward,  the 
Duchess  of  Mazarin  complained  of  a  slight  which  her  father  had 
received  from  the  Marquis  de  Crequi ;  which  proved  to  be  some 
thing  connected  with  the  signature  of  this  petition. 

This  important  document  being  completed,  the  illustrious  body 
of  petitioners,  male  and  female,  on  Saturday  evening,  the  eve  of 
Palm  Sunday,  repaired  to  the  Palais  Royal,  the  residence  of  the 
Regent,  and  were  ushered,  with  great  ceremony,  but  profound  si 


316  THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


lence,  into  his  hall  of  council.  They  had  appointed  four  of  their 
number  as  deputies,  to  present  the  petition,  viz. :  the  Cardinal  de 
Rohan,  the  Duke  de  Havre,  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  and  the  Marquis 
de  Crequi.  After  a  little  while,  the  deputies  were  summoned  to 
the  cabinet  of  the  Regent.  They  entered,  leaving  the  assembled 
petitioners  in  a  state  of  the  greatest  anxiety.  As  time  slowly 
wore  away,  and  the  evening  advanced,  the  gloom  of  the  company 
increased.  Several  of  the  ladies  prayed  devoutly ;  the  good  Prin 
cess  of  Armagnac  told  her  beads. 

The  petition  was  received  by  the  Regent  with  a  most  unpro- 
pitious  aspect.  "  In  asking  the  pardon  of  the  criminal,"  said  he, 
"  you  display  more  zeal  for  the  house  of  Yan  Horn,  than  for  the 
service  of  the  king."  The  noble  deputies  enforced  the  petition 
by  every  argument  in  their  power.  They  supplicated  the  Regent 
to  consider  that  the  infamous  punishment  in  question  would  reach 
not  merely  the  person  of  the  condemned,  not  merely  the  house  of 
Van  Horn,  but  also  the  genealogies  of  princely  and  illustrious 
families,  in  whose  armorial  bearings  might  be  found  quarterings 
of  this  dishonored  name. 

"  Gentlemen,"  replied  the  Regent,  "  it  appears  to  me  the  dis 
grace  consists  in  the  crime,  rather  than  in  the  punishment." 

The  Prince  de  Ligne  spoke  with  warmth :  "  I  have  in  my 
genealogical  standard,"  said  he,  "  four  escutcheons  of  Van  Horn, 
and  of  course  have  four  ancestors  of  that  house.  I  must  have  them 
erased  and  effaced,  and  there  would  be  so  many  blank  spaces,  like 
holes,  in  my  heraldic  ensigns.  There  is  not  a  sovereign  family 
which  would  not  suffer,  through  the  rigor  of  your  Royal  Highness ; 
nay,  all  the  world  knows,  that  in  the  thirty-two  quarterings  of 
Madame,  your  Mother,  there  is  an  escutcheon  of  Van  Horn." 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  317 


"  Very  well,"  replied  the  Regent,  "  I  will  share  the  disgrace 
with  you,  gentlemen." 

Seeing  that  a  pardon  could  not  be  obtained,  the  Cardinal  do 
Rohan  and  the  Marquis  de  Crequi  left  the  cabinet;  but  the 
Prince  de  Ligne  and  the  Duke  de  Havre  remained  behind.  The 
honor  of  their  houses,  more  than  the  life  of  the  unhappy  Count, 
was  the  great  object  of  their  solicitude.  They  now  endeavored 
to  obtain  a  minor  grace.  They  representedj  that  in  the  Nether 
lands,  and  in  Germany,  there  was  an  important  difference  in  the 
public  mind  as  to  the  mode  of  inflicting  the  punishment  of  death 
upon  persons  of  quality.  That  decapitation  had  no  influence  on 
the  fortunes  of  the  family  of  the  executed,  but  that  the  punish 
ment  of  the  wheel  was  such  an  infamy,  that  the  uncles,  aunts, 
brothers,  and  sisters,  of  the  criminal,  and  his  whole  family,  for 
three  succeeding  generations,  were  excluded  from  all  noble  chap 
ters,  princely  abbeys,  sovereign  bishoprics,  and  even  Teutonic 
commanderies  of  the  Order  of  Malta.  They  showed  how  this 
would  operate  immediately  upon  the  fortunes  of  a  sister  of  the 
Count,  who  was  on  the  point  of  being  received  as  a  canoness  into 
one  of  the  noble  chapters. 

While  this  scene  was  going  on  in  the  cabinet  of  the  Regent, 
the  illustrious  assemblage  of  petitioners  remained  in  the  hall  of 
council,  in  the  most  gloomy  state  of  suspense.  The  reentrance 
from  the  cabinet  of  the  Cardinal  de  Rohan  and  the  Marquis  de 
Crequi,  with  pale  downcast  countenances,  had  struck  a  chill  into 
every  heart.  Still  they  lingered  until  near  midnight,  to  learn  the 
result  of  the  after  application.  At  length  the  cabinet  conference 
was  at  an  end.  The  Regent  came  forth,  and  saluted  the  high 
personages  of  the  assemblage  in  a  courtly  manner.  One  old  lady 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


of  quality,  Madame  de  Guyon,  whom  he  had  known  in  his  infancy, 
he  kissed  on  the  cheek,  calling  her  his  "  good  aunt."  He  made  a 
most  ceremonious  salutation  to  the  stately  Marchioness  de  Crequi, 
telling  her  he  was  charmed  to  see  her  at  the  Palais  Royal ;  "  a 
compliment  very  ill-timed,"  said  the  Marchioness,  "  considering 
the  circumstance  which  brought  me  there."  He  then  conducted 
the  ladies  to  the  door  of  the  second  saloon,  and  there  dismissed 
them,  with  the  most  ceremonious  politeness. 

The  application  of  the  Prince  de  Ligne  and  the  Duke  de 
Havre,  for  a  change  of  the  mode  of  punishment,  had,  after  much 
difficulty,  been  successful.  The  Regent  had  promised  solemnly 
to  send  a  letter  of  commutation  to  the  attorney-general  on  Holy 
Monday  the  25th  of  March,  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Ac 
cording  to  the  same  promise,  a  scaffold  would  be  arranged  in  the 
cloister  of  the  Conciergerie,  or  prison,  where  the  Count  would  be 
beheaded  on  the  same  morning,  immediately  after  having  received 
absolution.  This  mitigation  of  the  form  of  punishment  gave  but 
little  consolation  to  the  great  body  of  petitioners,  who  had  been 
anxious  for  the  pardon  of  the  youth :  it  was  looked  upon  as  all- 
important,  however,  by  the  Prince  de  Ligne,  who,  as  has  been 
before  observed,  was  exquisitely  alive  to  the  dignity  of  his  family. 

The  Bishop  of  Bayeux  and  the  Marquis  de  Crequi  visited  the 
unfortunate  youth  in  prison.  He  had  just  received  the  communion 
in  the  chapel  of  the  Conciergerie,  and  was  kneeling  before  the 
altar,  listening  to  a  mass  for  the  dead,  which  was  performed  at 
his  request.  He  protested  his  innocence  of  any  intention  to  mur 
der  the  Jew,  but  did  not  deign  to  allude  to  the  accusation  of  rob 
bery.  He  made  the  Bishop  and  the  Marquis  promise  to  see  his 
brother  the  Prince,  and  inform  him  of  this  his  dying  asseveration. 


THE  COUNT  VAN"  HORN.  319 


Two  other  of  his  relations,  the  Prince  Rebecq-Montmorency  and 
the  Marshal  Van  Isenghien,  visited  him  secretly,  and  offered  him 
poison,  as  a  means  of  evading  the  disgrace  of  a  public  execution. 
On  his  refusing  to  take  it,  they  left  him  with  high  indignation. 
"  Miserable  man  !  "  said  they  "  you  are  fit  only  to  perish  by  the 
hand  of  the  executioner  !  " 

The  Marquis  de  Crequi  sought  the  executioner  of  Paris,  to 
bespeak  an  easy  and  decent  death  for  the  unfortunate  youth. 
"  Do  not  make  him  suffer,"  said  he;  "  uncover  no  part  of  him  but 
the  neck ;  and  have  his  body  placed  in  a  coffin  before  you  deliver 
it  to  his  family."  The  executioner  promised  all  that  was  re 
quested,  but  declined  a  rouleau  of  a  hundred  louis-d'ors  which  the 
Marquis  would  have  put  into  his  hand.  "  I  am  paid  by  the  King 
for  fulfilling  my  office,"  said  he ;  and  added,  that  he  had  already 
refused  a  like  sum,  offered  by  another  relation  of  the  Marquis. 

The  Marquis  de  Crequi  returned  home  in  a  state  of  deep  af 
fliction.  There  he  found  a  letter  from  the  Duke  de  St.  Simon, 
the  familiar  friend  of  the  Regent,  repeating  the  promise  of  that 
Prince,  that  the  punishment  of  the  wheel  should  be  commuted  to 
decapitation. 

"  Imagine,"  says  the  Marchioness  de  Crequi,  who  in  her 
memoirs  gives  a  detailed  account  of  this  affair,  "  imagine  what  we 
experienced,  and  what  was  our  astonishment,  our  grief,  and  indig 
nation,  when,  on  Tuesday  the  26th  of  March,  an  hour  after  mid 
day,  word  was  brought  us  that  the  Count  Van  Horn  had  been 
exposed  on  the  wheel,  in  the  Place  de  Greve,  since  half-past  six 
in  the  morning,  on  the  same  scaffold  with  the  Piedmontese,  De 
Mille,  and  that  he  had  been  tortured  previous  to  execution  I  " 

One  more  scene  of  aristocratic  pride  closed  this  tragic  story, 


320  THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN. 


The  Marquis  de  Crequi,  on  receiving  this  astounding  news,  imme 
diately  arrayed  himself  in  the  uniform  of  a  general  officer,  with 
his  cordon  of  nobility  on  the  coat.  He  ordered  six  valets  to  at 
tend  him  in  grand  livery,  and  two  of  his  carriages,  each  with  six 
horses,  to  be  brought  forth.  In  this  sumptuous  state,  he  set  off 
for  the  Palace  de  G-reve,  where  he  had  been  preceded  by  the 
Princes  de  Ligne,  de  Rohan,  de  Crony,  and  the  Duke  de  Havre. 

The  Count  Van  Horn  was  already  dead,  and  it  was  believed 
that  the  executioner  had  had  the  charity  to  give  him  the  coup  de 
grace,  or  "  death  blow,"  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning.  At  five 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  when  the  Judge  Commissary  left  his  post 
at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  these  noblemen,  with  their  own  hands,  aid 
ed  to  detach  the  mutilated  reiuains  of  their  relation ;  the  Marquis 
de  Crequi  placed  them  in  one  of  his  carriages,  and  bore  them  off 
to  his  hotel,  to  receive  the  last  sad  obsequies. 

The  conduct  of  the  Regent  in  this  affair  excited  general  indig 
nation.  His  needless  severity  was  attributed  by  some  to  vindic 
tive  jealousy ;  by  others  to  the  persevering  machinations  of  Law 
and  the  Abbe  Dubois.  The  house  of  Van  Horn,  and  the  high 
nobility  of  Flanders  and  Germany,  considered  themselves  flagrantly 
outraged  :  many  schemes  of  vengeance  were  talked  of,  and  a 
hatred  engendered  against  the  Regent,  that  followed  him  through 
life,  and  was  wreaked  with  bitterness  upon  his  memory  after  his 
death. 

The  following  letter  is  said  to  have  been  written  to  the  Re 
gent  by  the  Prince  Van  Horn,  to  whom  the  former  had  adjudged 
the  confiscated  effects  of  the  Count : 

"  I  do  not  complain,  sir,  of  the  death  of  my  brother,  but  I 
complain  that  your  Royal  Highness  has  violated  in  his  person  the 


THE  COUNT  VAN  HORN.  321 


rights  of  the  kingdom,  the  nobility,  and  the  nation.  I  thank  you 
for  the  Confiscation  of  his  effects ;  but  I  should  think  myself  as 
much  disgraced  as  he,  should  I  accept  any  favor  at  your  hands. 
I  hope  that  God  and  the  King  may  render  to  you  as  strict 
justice  as  you  have  rendered  to  my  unfortunate  brother." 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH. 

*•'  I  have  heard  of  spirits  walking  with  aerial  bodies,  and  have  been  wondered  at  by 
others ;  but  I  rnust  only  wonder  at  myself,  for.  if  they  be  not  mad.  Fine  come  to  my  own 
buriall."  SHIRLEY'S  "  WITTY  FAIEIE  ONE." 

EVERY  body  has  heard  of  the  fate  of  DON  JUAN,  the  famous  liber 
tine  of  Seville,  who  for  his  sins  against  the  fair  sex,  and  other 
minor  peccadilloes,  was  hurried  away  to  the  infernal  regions. 
His  story  has  been  illustrated  in  play,  in  pantomime,  and  farce, 
on  every  stage  in  Christendom,  until  at  length  it  has  been  render 
ed  the  theme  of  the  opera  of  operas,  and  embalmed  to  endless 
duration  in  the  glorious  music  of  Mozart.  I  well  recollect  the 
effect  of  this  story  upon  my  feelings  in  my  boyish  days,  though 
represented  in  grotesque  pantomime  ;  the  awe  with  which  I  con 
templated  the  monumental  statue  on  horseback  of  the  murdered 
commander,  gleaming  by  pale  moonlight  in  the  convent  cemetery : 
how  my  heart  quaked  as  he  bowed  his  marble  head,  and  accepted 
the  impious  invitation  of  Don  Juan  :  how  each  foot-fall  of  the 
statue  smote  upon  my  heart,  as  I  heard  it  approach,  step  by  step, 
through  the  echoing  corridor,  and  beheld  it  enter,  and  advance, 
a  moving  figure  of  stone,  to  the  supper  table  !  But  then  the  con 
vivial  scene  in  the  charnel  house,  where  Don  Juan  returned  the 
visit  of  the  statue ;  was  offered  a  banquet  of  sculls  and  bones, 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH.  323 


and  on  refusing  to  partake,  was  hurled  into  a  yawning  gulf  under 
a  tremendous  shower  of  fire  !  These  were  accumulated  horrors 
enough  to  shake  the  nerves  of  the  most  pantomime-loving  school 
boy.  Many  have  supposed  the  story  of  Don  Juan  a  mere  fable. 
I  myself  thought  so  once ;  but  "  seeing  is  believing."  I  have 
since  beheld  the  very  scene  where  it  took  place,  and  now  to  in 
dulge  any  doubt  on  the  subject,  would  be  preposterous. 

I  was  one  night  perambulating  the  streets  of  Seville,  in  com 
pany  with  a  Spanish  friend,  a  curious  investigator  of  the  popular 
traditions  and  other  good-for-nothing  lore  of  the  city,  and  who 
was  kind  enough  to  imagine  he  had  met,  in  me,  with  a  congenial 
spirit.  In  the  course  of  our  rambles,  we  were  passing  by  a  heavy 
dark  gateway,  opening  into  the  court-yard  of  a  convent,  when  he 
laid  his  hand  upon  my  arm  :  "  Stop  !  "  said  he  ;  "  this  is  the  con 
vent  of  San  Francisco  ;  there  is  a  story  connected  with  it,  which 
I  am  sure  must  be  known  to  you.  You  cannot  but  have  heard 
of  Don  Juan  and  the  marble  statue." 

" Undoubtedly,"  replied  I ;  "it  has  been  familiar  to  me  from 
childhood." 

"  Well,  then,  it  was  in  the  cemetery  of  this  very  convent  that 
the  events  took  place." 

"  Why,  you  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  story  is  founded  on 
fact  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly  it  is.  The  circumstances  of  the  case  are  said 
to  have  occurred  during  the  reign  of  Alfonso  XL  Don  Juan 
was  of  the  noble  family  of  Tenorio,  one  of  the  most  illustrious 
houses  of  Andalusia.  His  father,  Don  Diego  Tenorio,  was  a 
favorite  of  the  king,  and  his  family  ranked  among  the  veintecua- 
tros.  or  magistrates,  of  the  city.  Presuming  on  his  high  descent 


324  DON  JUAN:  A  SPEdTRAL  RESEARCH. 


and  powerful  connections,  Bon  Juan  set  no  bounds  to  his  exces 
ses  :  no  female,  high  or  low,  was  sacred  from  his  pursuit ;  and  he 
soon  became  the  scandal  of  Seville.  One  of  his  most  daring  out 
rages  was,  to  penetrate  by  night  into  the  palace  of  Don  Gonzalo 
de  Ulloa,  Commander  of  the  Order  of  Calatrava,  and  attempt  to  caf- 
ry  off  his  daughter.  The  household  was  alarmed ;  a  scuffle  in  the 
dark  took  place  ;  Don  Juan  escaped,  but  the  unfortunate  command 
er  was  found  weltering  in  his  blood,  and  expired  without  being  able 
to  name  his  murderer.  Suspicions  attached  to  Don  Juan ;  ho 
did  not  stop  to  meet  the  investigations  of  justice  and  the  ven 
geance  of  the  powerful  family  of  Ulloa,  but  fled  from  Seville,  and 
took  refuge  with  his  uncle,  Don  Pedro  Tenorio,  at  that  time  am 
bassador  at  the  court  of  Naples.  Here  he  remained  until  the 
agitation  occasioned  by  the  murder  of  Don  Gronzalo  had  time  to 
subside  j  and  the  scandal  which  the  affair  might  cause  to  both 
the  families  of  Ulloa  and  Tenorio  had  induced  them  to  hush  it 
up.  Don  Juan,  however,  continued  his  libertine  career  at  Naples, 
until  at  length  his  excesses  forfeited  the  protection  of  his  uncle 
the  ambassador,  and  obliged  him  again  to  flee.  He  had  made 
his  way  back  to  Seville,  trusting  that  his  past  misdeeds  were  for 
gotten,  or  rather  trusting  to  his  dare-devil  spirit  and  the  power 
of  his  family,  to  carry  him  through  all  difficulties. 

"  It  was  shortly  after  his  return,  and  while  in  the  height  of 
his  arrogance,  that  on  visiting  this  very  convent  of  Francisco,  he 
beheld  on  a  monument  the  equestrian  statue  of  the  murdered 
commander,  who  had  been  buried  within  the  walls  of  this  sacred 
edifice,  where  the  family  of  Ulloa  had  a  chapel.  It  was  on  this 
occasion  that  Don  Juan,  in  a  moment  of  impious  levity,  invited 
the  statue  to  the  banquet,  the  awful  catastrophe  of  which  has 
given  such  celebrity  to  his  story." 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH.  325 


"  And  pray  how  much  of  this  story,"  said  I,  "  is  believed  in 
Seville  ?  " 

"  The  whole  of  it  by  the  populace;  with  whom  it  has  been 
a  favorite  tradition  since  time  immemorial,  and  who  crowd  to  the 
theatres  to  see  it  represented  in  dramas  written  long  since  by 
Tyrso  de  Molina,  and  another  of  our  popular  writers.  Many  in 
our  higher  ranks  also,  accustomed  from  childhood  to  this  story 
would  feel  somewhat  indignant  at  hearing  it  treated  with  con 
tempt.  An  attempt  has  been  made  to  explain  the  whole,  by  as 
serting  that,  to  put  an  end  to  the  extravagances  of  Don  Juan, 
and  to  pacify  the  family  of  Ulloa,  without  exposing  the  delin 
quent  to  the  degrading  penalties  of  justice,  he  was  decoyed  into 
this  convent  under  false  pretext,  and  either  plunged  into  a  per 
petual  dungeon,  or  privately  hurried  out  of  existence ;  while  the 
story  of  the  statue  was  circulated  by  the  monks,  to  account  for 
his  sudden  disappearance.  The  populace,  however,  are  not  to  be 
cajoled  out  of  a  ghost  story  by  any  of  these  plausible  explana 
tions;  and  the  marble  statue  still  strides  the  stage,  and  Don 
Juan  is  still  plunged  into  the  infernal  regions,  as  an  awful  warn 
ing  to  all  rake-helly  youngsters,  in  like  case  offending." 

While  my  companion  was  relating  these  anecdotes,  we 
had  traversed  the  exterior  court-yard  of  the  convent,  and 
made  our  way  into  a  great  interior  court ;  partly  surrounded 
by  cloisters  and  dormitories,  partly  by  chapels,  and  having  a 
large  fountain  in  the  centre.  The  pile  had  evidently  once  been 
extensive  and  magnificent;  but  it  Was  for  the  greater  part  in 
ruins.  By  the  light  of  the  stars,  and  of  twinkling  lamps  placed 
here  and  there  in  the  chapels  and  corridors,  I  could  see  that 
many  of  the  columns  and  arches  were  broken ;  the  walls  were 


326  DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH. 


rent  and  riven ;  while  burnt  beams  and  rafters  showed  the  de« 
structive  effects  of  fire.  The  whole  place  had  a  desolate  air ;  the 
night  breeze  rustled  through  grass  and  weeds  flaunting  out  of  the 
crevices  of  the  walls,  or  from  the  shattered  columns ;  the  bat 
flitted  about  the  vaulted  passages,  and  the  owl  hooted  from  the 
ruined  belfry.  Never  was  any  scene  more  completely  fitted 
for  a  ghost  story. 

While  I  was  indulging  in  picturings  of  the  fancy,  proper  to 
such  a  place,  the  deep  chant  of  the  monks  from  the  convent 
church  came  swelling  upon  the  ear.  "  It  is  the  vesper  service," 
said  my  companion  ;  "  follow  ine." 

Leading  the  way  across  the  court  of  the  cloisters,  and 
through  one  or  two  ruined  passages,  he  reached  the  portal  of  the 
church,  and  pushing  open  a  wicket,  cut  in  the  folding-doors,  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  deep  arched  vestibule  of  the  sacred  edifice. 
To  our  left  was  the  choir,  forming  one  end  of  the  church,  and 
having  a  low  vaulted  ceiling,  which  gave  it  the  look  of  a  cavern. 
About  this  were  ranged  the  monks,  seated  on  stools,  and  chantirg 
from  immense  books  placed  on  music  stands,  and  having  the  notes 
scored  in  such  gigantic  characters  as  to  be  legible  from  every  part 
of  the  choir.  A  few  lights  on  these  music  stands  dimly  illumined 
the  choir,  gleamed  on  the  shaven  heads  of  the  monks,  and  threw 
their  shadows  on  the  walls.  They  were  gross,  blue-bearded,  bul 
let-headed  men,  with  bass  voices,  of  deep  metallic  tone,  that  rever 
berated  out  of  the  cavernous  choir. 

To  our  right  extended  the  great  body  of  the  church.  It  was 
spacious  and  lofty ;  some  of  the  side  chapels  had  gilded  grates, 
and  were  decorated  with  images  and  paintings,  representing  the 
sufferings  of  our  Saviour.  Aloft  was  a  great  painting  by  Murillo, 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH.  327 


but  too  much  in  the  dark  to  be  distinguished.  The  gloom  of  the 
whole  church  was  but  faintly  relieved  by  the  reflected  light  from 
the  choir,  and  the  glimmering  here  and  there  of  a  votive  lamp 
before  the  shrine  of  the  saint. 

As  my  eye  roamed  about  the  shadowy  pile,  it  was  struck  with 
the  dimly  seen  figure  of  a  man  on  horseback,  near  a  distant  altar. 
I  touched  my  companion,  and  pointed  to  it :  "  The  spectre  statue ! " 
said  I. 

"  No,"  replied  he ;  "  it  is  the  statue  of  the  blessed  St.  lago ; 
the  statue  of  the  commander  was  in  the  cemetery  of  the  convent, 
and  was  destroyed  at  the  time  of  the  conflagration.  But,"  added 
he,  "  as  I  see  you  take  a  proper  interest  in  these  kind  of  stories, 
come  with  me  to  the  other  end  of  the  church,  where  our  whisper 
ings  will  not  disturb  these  holy  fathers  at  their  devotions,  and  I 
will  tell  you  another  story,  that  has  been  current  for  some  gener 
ations  in  our  city,  by  which  you  will  find  that  Don  Juan  is  not 
the  only  libertine  that  has  been  the  object  of  supernatural  casti- 
gation  in  Seville." 

I  accordingly  followed  him  with  noiseless  tread  to  the  farther 
part  of  the  church,  where  we  took  our  seats  on  the  steps  of  an 
altar  opposite  to  the  suspicious-looking  figure  on  horseback,  and 
there,  in  a  low  mysterious  voice,  he  related  to  me  the  following 
narrative : — 

"  There  was  once  in  Seville  a  gay  young  fellow,  Don  Manuel 
de  Manara  by  name,  who  having  come  to  a  great  estate  by  the 
death  of  his  father,  gave  the  reins  to  his  passions,  and  plunged  into 
all  kinds  of  dissipation.  Like  Don  Juan,  whom  he  seemed  to 
have  taken  for  a  model,  he  became  famous  for  his  enterprises 


328  DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTEAL  RESEARCH. 


a,mong  the  fair  sex,  and  was  the  cause  of  doors  being  barred  and 
windows  grated  with  more  than  usual  strictness.  All  in  vain 
No  balcony  was  too  high  for  him  to  scale:  no  bolt  nor  bar  was 
proof  against  his  efforts  :  and  his  very  name  was  a  word  of  terror 
to  all  the  jealous  husbands  and  cautious  fathers  of  Seville.  His 
exploits  extended  to  country  as  well  as  city ;  and  in  the  village 
dependent  on  his  castle,  scarce  a  rural  beauty  was  safe  from  his 
arts  and  enterprises. 

"  As  he  was  one  day  ranging  the  streets  of  Seville,  with  sever 
al  of  his  dissolute  companions,  he  beheld  a  procession,  about  to 
enter  the  gate  of  a  convent.  In  the  centre  was  a  young  female, 
arrayed  in  the  dress  of  a  bride ;  it  was  a  novice,  who,  having  ac 
complished  her  year  of  probation,  was  about  to  take  the  black  veil, 
and  consecrate  herself  to  heaven.  The  companions  of  Don  Man 
uel  drew  back,  out  of  respect  to  the  sacred  pageant ;  but  he  pressed 
forward,  with  his  usual  impetuosity,  to  gain  a  near  view  of  the 
novice.  He  almost  jostled  her,  in  passing  through  the  portal  of 
the  church,  when,  on  her  turning  round,  he  beheld  the  counte 
nance  of  a  beautiful  village  girl,  who  had  been  the  object  of  his 
ardent  pursuit,  but  who  had  been  spirited  secretly  out  of  his  reach 
by  her  relatives.  She  recognized  him  at  the  same  moment,  and 
fainted :  but  was  borne  within  the  grate  of  the  chapel.  It  was 
supposed  the  agitation  of  the  ceremony  and  the  heat  of  the  throng 
had  overcome  her.  After  some  time,  the  curtain  which  hung 
within  the  grate  was  drawn  up :  there  stood  the  novice,  pale  and 
trembling,  surrounded  by  the  abbess  and  the  nuns.  The  ceremony 
proceeded ;  the  crown  of  flowers  was  taken  from  her  head ;  she 
was  shorn  of  her  silken  tresses,  received  the  black  veil,  and  went 
passively  through  the  remainder  of  the  ceremony. 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH.  329 


"  Don  Manuel  de  Manara,  on  the  contrary,  was  roused  to  fury 
at  the  sight  of  this  sacrifice.  His  passion,  which  had  almost  faded 
away  in  the  absence  of  the  object,  now  glowed  with  tenfold  ardor, 
being  inflamed  by  the  difficulties  placed  in  his  way,  and  piqued  by 
the  measures  which  had  been  taken  to  defeat  him.  Never  had  the 
object  of  his  pursuit  appeared  so  lovely  and  desirable  as  when 
within  the  grate  of  the  convent ;  and  he  swore  to  have  her,  in  de 
fiance  of  heaven  and  earth.  By  dint  of  bribing  a  female  servant 
of  the  convent,  he  contrived  to  convey  letters  to  her,  pleading  his 
passion  in  the  most  eloquent  and  seductive  terms.  How  success 
ful  they  were,  is  only  matter  of  conjecture ;  certain  it  is,  he  under 
took  one  night  to  scale  the  garden  wall  of  the  convent,  either  to 
carry  off  the  nun,  or  gain  admission  to  her  cell.  Just  as  he  was 
mounting  the  wall,  he  was  suddenly  plucked  back,  and  a  stranger, 
muffled  in  a  cloak,  stood  before  him. 

"  l Rash  man,  forbear ! '  cried  he  :  'is  it  not  enough  to  have 
violated  all  human  ties?  Wouldst  thou  steal  a  bride  from 
heaven ! ' 

"  The  sword  of  Don  Manuel  had  been  drawn  on  the  instant, 
and  furious  at  this  interruption,  he  passed  it  through  the  body  of 
the  stranger,  who  fell  dead  at  his  feet.  Hearing  approaching  foot 
steps,  he  fled  the  fatal  spot,  and  mounting  his  horse,  which  was  at 
hand,  retreated  to  his  estate  in  the  country,  at  no  great  distance 
from  Seville.  Here  he  remained  throughout  the  next  day,  full 
of  horror  and  remorse ;  dreading  lest  he  should  be  known  as  the 
murderer  of  the  deceased,  and  fearing  each  moment  the  arrival  of 
the  officers  of  justice. 

"  The  day  passed,  however,  without  molestation ;  and,  as  the 
evening  advanced,  unable  any  longer  to  endure  this  state  of  uncer- 


330  DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTEAL  RESEARCH. 


tainty  and  apprehension,  he  ventured  back  to  Seville.  Irresisti 
bly  his  footsteps  took  the  direction  of  the  convent ;  but  he  paused 
and  hovered  at  a  distance  from  the  scene  of  blood.  Several  persons 
were  gathered  round  the  place,  one  of  whom  was  busy  nailing 
something  against  the  convent  wall.  After  a  while  they  dispers 
ed,  and  one  passed  near  to  Don  Manuel.  The  latter  addressed 
him,  with  hesitating  voice. 

"  '  Senor,'  said  he,  '  may  I  ask  the  reason  of  yonder  throng?' 

"  '  A  cavalier,'  replied  the  other,  l  has  been  murdered.' 

" '  Murdered !'  echoed  Don  Manuel;  {  and  can  you  tell  me 
his  name  ? ' 

"  '  Don  Manuel  de  Manara,'  replied  the  stranger,  and  passed  on. 

"  Don  Manuel  was  startled  at  this  mention  of  his  own  name ; 
especially  when  applied  to  the  murdered  man.  He  ventured,  when 
it  was  entirely  deserted,  to  approach  the  fatal  spot.  A  small  cross 
had  been  nailed  against  the  wall,  as  is  customary  in  Spain,  to  mark 
the  place  where  a  murder  has  been  committed ;  and  just  below  it 
he  read,  by  the  twinkling  light  of  a  lamp  ;  '  Here  was  murdered 
Don  Manuel  de  Manara.  Pray  to  G-od  for  his  soul ! ' 

"  Still  more  confounded  and  perplexed  by  this  inscription,  he 
wandered  about  the  streets  until  the  night  was  far  advanced,  and 
all  was  still  and  lonely.  As  he  entered  the  principal  square,  the 
light  of  torches  suddenly  broke  on  him,  and  he  beheld  a  grand 
funeral  procession  moving  across  it.  There  was  a  great  train  of 
priests,  and  many  persons  of  dignified  appearance,  in  ancient 
Spanish  dresses,  attending  as  mourners,  none  of  whom  he  knew. 
Accosting  a  servant  who  followed  in  the  train,  he  demanded  the 
name  of  the  defunct. 

"  '  Don  Manuel  de  Manara,'  was  the  reply;  and  it  went  cold 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH.  331 


to  his  heart.  He  looked,  and  indeed  beheld  the  armorial  bearings 
of  his  family  emblazoned  on  the  funeral  escutcheons.  Yet  not  one 
of  his  family  was  to  be  seen  ainong  the  mourners.  The  mystery 
was  more  and  more  incomprehensible. 

"  He  followed  the  procession  as  it  moved  on  to  the  cathedral. 
The  bier  was  deposited  before  the  high  altar ;  the  funeral  service 
was  commenced,  and  the  grand  organ  began  to  peal  through  the 
vaulted  aisles. 

"  Again  the  youth  ventured  to  question  this  awful  pageant. 
{ Father,'  said  he,  with  trembling  voice,  to  one  of  the  priests, 
*  who  is  this  you  are  about  to  inter  ? ' 

" '  Don  Manuel  de  Manara !  '  replied  the  priest. 

"  (  Father,'  cried  Don  Manuel,  impatiently,  '  you  are  deceived. 
This  is  some  imposture.  Know  that  Don  Manuel  de  Manara  is-alive 
and  well,  and  now  stands  before  you.  I  am  Don  Manuel  de  Manara  ! ' 

"  '  Avaunt,  rash  youth !'  cried  the  priest;  'know  that  Don 
Manuel  de  Manara  is  dead  ! — is  dead  ! — is  dead  !  —  and  we  are 
all  souls  from  purgatory,  his  deceased  relatives  and  ancestors, 
and  others  that  have  been  aided  by  masses  from  his  family,  who 
are  permitted  to  come  here  and-  pray  for  the  repose  of  his  soul ! ' 

"  Don  Manuel  cast  round  a  fearful  glance  upon  the  assemblage, 
in  antiquated  Spanish  garbs,  and  recognized  in  their  pale  and 
ghastly  countenances  the  portraits  of  many  an  ancestor  that  hung 
in  the  family  picture-gallery.  He  now  lost  all  self-command, 
rushed  up  to  the  bier,  and  beheld  the  counterpart  of  himself,  but 
in  the  fixed  and  livid  lineaments  of  death.  Just  at  that  moment 
the  whole  choir  burst  forth  with  a  '  Requiescat  in  pace,'  that 
shook  the  vaults  of  the  cathedral.  Don  Manuel  sank  senseless  on 
the  pavement.  He  was  found  there  early  the  next  morning  by  the 


332  DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH. 


sacristan,  and  conveyed  to  his  home.  When  sufficiently  recovered, 
he  sent  for  a  friar,  and  made  a  full  confession  of  all  that  had 
happened. 

"  '  My  son,'  said  the  friar,  l  all  this  is  a  miracle  and  a  mystery, 
intended  for  thy  conversion  and  salvation.  The  corpse  thou  hast 
seen  was  a  token  that  thou  hadst  died  to  sin  and  the  world  ;  take 
warning  by  it,  and  henceforth  live  to  righteousness  and  heaven  ! ' 

"  Don  Manuel  did  take  warning  by  it.  Guided  by  the  councils 
of  the  worthy  friar,  he  disposed  of  all  his  temporal  affairs ;  dedi 
cated  the  greater  part  of  his  wealth  to  pious  uses,  especially  to  the 
performance  of  masses  for  souls  in  purgatory  ;  and  finally,  enter 
ing  a  convent,  became  one  of  the  most  zealous  and  exemplary 
monks  in  Seville. 

While  my  companion  was  relating  this  story,  my  eyes  wander 
ed,  from  time  to  time,  about  the  dusky  church.  Methought  the 
burly  countenances  of  the  monks  in  the  distant  choir  assumed  a 
pallid,  ghastly  hue,  and  their  deep  metallic  voices  a  sepulchral 
sound.  By  the  time  the  story  was  ended,  they  had  ended  their 
chant;  and,  extinguishing  their  lights,  glided  one  by  one,  like 
shadows,  through  a  small  door  in  the  side  of  the  choir.  A  deeper 
gloom  prevailed  over  the  church;  the  figure  opposite  me  on  horse 
back  grew  more  and  more  spectral ;  and  I  almost  expected  to  see 
it  bow  its  head. 

"  It  is  time  to  be  off,"  said  my  companion,  "  unless  we  intend 
to  sup  with  the  statue." 

"  I  have  no  relish  for  such  fare  nor  such  company,"  replied  I ; 
and  following  my  companion,  we  groped  our  way  through  the 
mouldering  cloisters.  As  we  passed  by  the  ruined  ct  netery, 


DON  JUAN:  A  SPECTRAL  RESEARCH.  333 


keeping  up  a  casual  conversation,  by  way  of  dispelling  the  loneli 
ness  of  the  scene,  I  called  to  mind  the  words  of  the  poet : 

"  The  tombs 

And  monumental  caves  of  death  look  cold, 
And  shoot  a  chilluess  to  my  trembling  heart! 
Give  me  thy  hand,  and  let  me  hear  thy  voice ; 
Nay,  speak — and  let  me  hear  thy  voice ; 
Mine  own  affrights  me  with  its  echoes." 

There  wanted  nothing  but  the  marble  statue  of  the  commander, 
striding  along  the  echoing  cloisters,  to  complete  the  haunted  scene. 
Since  that  time,  I  never  fail  to  attend  the  theatre  whenever 
the  story  of  Don  Juan  is  represented,  whether  in  pantomime  or 
opera.  In  the  sepulchral  scene,  I  feel  myself  quite  at  home  ;  and 
when  the  statue  makes  his  appearance,  I  greet  him  as  an  old 
acquaintance.  When  the  audience  applaud,  I  look  round  upon 
them  with  a  degree  of  compassion ;  <(  Poor  souls  !  "  I  say  to  myself, 
"  they  think  they  are  pleased ;  they  think  they  enjoy  this  piece, 
and  yet  they  consider  the  whole  as  a  fiction  !  How  much  more 
would  they  enjoy  it,  if,  like  me,  they  knew  it  to  be  true — and 
had  seen  the  very  place  !  " 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT. 

AT  the  dark  and  melancholy  period  when  Don  Roderick  the 
Groth  and  his  chivalry  were  overthrown  on  the  banks  of  the  Grua- 
dalete,  and  all  Spain  was  overrun  by  the  Moors,  great  was  the 
devastation  of  churches  and  convents  throughout  that  pious  king- 
dom.  The  miraculous  fate  of  one  of  those  holy  piles  is  thus  re 
corded  in  an  authentic  legend  of  those  days. 

On  the  summit  of  a  hill,  not  very  distant  from  the  capital  city 
of  Toledo,  stood  an  ancient  convent  and  chapel,  dedicated  to  the 
invocation  of  Saint  Benedict,  and  inhabited  by  a  sisterhood  of 
Benedictine  nuns.  This  holy  asylum  was  confined  to  females  of 
noble  lineage.  The  younger  sisters  of  the  highest  families  were 
here  given  in  religious  marriage  to  their  Saviour,  in  order  that 
the  portions  of  their  elder  sisters  might  be  increased,  and  they 
enabled  to  make  suitable  matches  on  earth ;  or  that  the  family 
wealth  might  go  undivided  to  elder  brothers,  and  the  dignity  of 
their  ancient  houses  be  protected  from  decay.  The  convent  was 
renowned,  therefore,  for  enshrining  within  its  walls  a  sisterhood 
of  the  purest  blood,  the  most  immaculate  virtue,  and  most  re 
splendent  beauty,  of  all  Grothic  Spain. 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT.       335 


When  the  Moors  overran  the  kingdom,  there  was  nothing  that 
more  excited  their  hostility,  than  these  virgin  asylums.  The 
very  sight  of  a  convent-spire  was  sufficient  to  set  their  Moslem 
blood  in  a  foment,  and  they  sacked  it  with  as  fierce  a  zeal  as 
though  the  sacking  of  a  nunnery  were  a  sure  passport  to  Elysium. 

Tidings  of  such  outrages,  committed  in  various  parts  of  the 
kingdom,  reached  this  noble  sanctuary,  and  filled  it  with  dismay. 
The  danger  came  nearer  and  nearer ;  the  infidel  hosts  were  spread 
ing  all  over  the  country ;  Toledo  itself  was  captured ;  there  was 
no  flying  from  the  convent,  and  no  security  within  its  walls. 

In  the  midst  of  this  agitation,  the  alarm  was  given  one  day, 
that  a  great  band  of  Saracens  were  spurring  across  the  plain.  In 
an  instant  the  whole  convent  was  a  scene  of  confusion.  Some  of 
the  nuns  wrung  their  fair  hands  at  the  windows ;  others  waved 
their  veils,  and  uttered  shrieks,  from  the  tops  of  the  towers,  vainly 
hoping  to  draw  relief  from  a  country  overrun  by  the  foe.  The 
sight  of  these  innocent  doves  thus  fluttering  about  their  dove-cote, 
but  increased  the  zealot  fury  of  the  whiskered  Moors.  They  thun 
dered  at  the  portal,  and  at  every  blow  the  ponderous  gates  trem 
bled  on  their  hinges. 

The  nuns  now  crowded  round  the  abbess.  They  had  been  ac 
customed  to  look  up  to  her  as  all-powerful,  and  they  now  implored 
her  protection.  The  mother  abbess  looked  with  a  rueful  eye  upon 
the  treasures  of  beauty  and  vestal  virtue  exposed  to  such  immi 
nent  peril.  Alas  !  how  was  she  to  protect  them  from  the  spoiler  ! 
She  had,  it  is  true,  experienced  many  signal  interpositions  of 
Providence  in  her  individual  favor.  Her  early  days  had  been 
passed  amid  the  temptations  of  a  court,  where  her  virtue  had 
been  purified  by  repeated  trials,  from  none  of  which  had  she  es- 


336  LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGTJLPHED  CONVENT. 


caped  but  by  miracle.  But  were  miracles  never  to  cease  ?  Could 
she  hope  that  the  marvellous  protection  shown  to  herself,  would 
be  extended  to  a  whole  sisterhood?  There  was  no  other  resource. 
The  Moors  were  at  the  threshold ;  a  few  moments  more,  and  the 
convent  would  be  at  their  mercy.  Summoning  her  nuns  to  follow 
her,  she  hurried  into  the  chapel,  and  throwing  herself  on  her 
knees  before  the  image  of  the  blessed  Mary,  "  Oh,  holy  Lady ! " 
exclaimed  she,  "  oh,  most  pure  and  immaculate  of  virgins  !  thou 
seest  our  extremity.  The  ravager  is  at  the  gate,  and  there  is  none 
on  earth  to  help  us !  Look  down  with  pity,  and  grant  that 
the  earth  may  gape  and  swallow  us,  rather  than  that  our  cloister 
vows  should  suffer  violation !  " 

The  Moors  redoubled  their  assault  upon  the  portal ;  the  gates 
gave  way,  with  a  tremendous  crash  ;  a  savage  yell  of  exultation 
arose ;  when  of  a  sudden  the  earth  yawned ;  down  sank  the  con 
vent,  with  its  cloisters,  its  dormitories,  and  all  its  nuns.  The 
chapel  tower  was  the  last  that  sank,  the  bell  ringing  forth  a  peal 
of  triumph  in  the  very  teeth  of  the  infidels. 


Forty  years  had  passed  and  gone,  since  the  period  of  this 
miracle.  The  subjugation  of  Spain  was  complete.  The  Moors 
lorded  it  over  city  and  country ;  and  such  of  the  Christian  popu 
lation  as  remained,  and  were  permitted  to  exercise  their  religion, 
did  it  in  humble  resignation  to  the  Moslem  sway. 

At  this  time,  a  Christian  cavalier,  of  Cordova,  hearing  that 
a  patriotic  band  of  his  countrymen  had  raised  the  standard  of 
the  cross  in  the  mountains  of  the  Asturias,  resolved  to  join 
them,  and  unite  in  breaking  the  yoke  of  bondage.  Secretly 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT.       337 


arming  himself,  and  caparisoning  his  steed,  he  set  forth  from 
Cordova,  and  pursued  his  course  by  unfrequented  mule-paths, 
and  along  the  dry  channels  made  by  winter  torrents.  His  spirit 
burned  with  indignation,  whenever,  on  commanding  a  view  over 
a  long  sweeping  plain,  he  beheld  the  mosque  swelling  in  the  dis 
tance,  and  the  Arab  horsemen  careering  about,  as  if  the  rightful 
lords  of  the  soil.  Many  a  deep-drawn  sigh,  and  heavy  groan, 
also,  did  the  good  cavalier  utter,  on  passing  the  ruins  of  churches 
and  convents  desolated  by  the  conquerors. 

It  was  on  a  sultry  midsummer  evening,  that  this  wandering 
cavalier,  in  skirting  a  hill  thickly  covered  with  forest,  heard  the 
faint  tones  of  a  vesper  bell  sounding  melodiously  in  the  air,  and 
seeming  to  come  from  the  summit  of  the  hill.  The  cavalier 
crossed  himself  with  wonder,  at  this  unwonted  and  Christian 
sound.  He  supposed  it  to  proceed  from  one  of  those  humble 
chapels  and  hermitages  permitted  to  exist  through  the  indul 
gence  of  the  Moslem  conquerors.  Turning  his  steed  up  a  nar 
row  path  of  the  forest,  he  sought  this  sanctuary,  in  hopes  of 
finding  a  hospitable  shelter  for  the  night.  As  he  advanced,  the 
trees  threw  a  deep  gloom  around  him,  and  the  bat  flitted  across 
his  path.  The  bell  ceased  to  toll,  and  all  was  silence. 

Presently  a  choir  of  female  voices  came  stealing  sweetly 
through  the  forest,  chanting  the  evening  service,  to  the  solemn 
accompaniment  of  an  organ.  The  heart  of  the  good  cavalier 
melted  at  the  sound,  for  it  recalled  the  happier  days  of  his  coun 
try.  Urging  forward  his  weary  steed,  he  at  length  arrived  at  a 
broad  grassy  area,  on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  surrounded  by  the 
forest.  Here  the  melodious  voices  rose  in  full  chorus,  like  the 
swelling  of  the  breeze  ;  but  whence  they  came,  he  could  not  tell. 
15 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT. 


Sometimes  they  were  before,  sometimes  behind  him  ;  sometimes 
in  the  air,  sometimes  as  if  from  within  the  bosom  of  the  earth. 
At  length  they  died  away,  and  a  holy  stillness  settled  on  the 
place. 

The  cavalier  gazed  around  with  bewildered  eye.  There  was 
neither  chapel  nor  convent,  nor  humble  hermitage,  to  be  seen ; 
nothing  but  a  moss-grown  stone  pinnacle,  rising  out  of  the  cen 
tre  of  the  area,  surmounted  by  a  cross.  The  green  sward  ap 
peared  to  have  been  sacred  from  the  tread  of  man  or  beast,  and 
the  surrounding  trees  bent  toward  the  cross,  as  if  in  adoration. 

The  cavalier  felt  a  sensation  of  holy  awe.  He  alighted,  and 
tethered-  his  steed  on  the  skirts  of  the  forest,  where  he  might 
crop  the  tender  herbage;  then  approaching  the  cross,  he  knelt 
and  poured  forth  his  evening  prayers  before  this  relic  of  the 
Christian  days  of  Spain.  His  orisons  being  concluded,  he  laid 
himself  down  at  the  foot  of  the  pinnacle,  and  reclining  his  head 
•against  one  of  its  stones,  fell  into  a  deep  sleep. 

About  midnight,  he  was  awakened  by  the  tolling  of  a  bell, 
and  found  himself  lying  before  the  gate  of  an  ancient  convent. 
A  train  of  nuns  passed  by,  each  bearing  a  taper.  He  rose  and 
followed  them  into  the  chapel ;  in  the  centre  was  a  bier,  on  which 
lay  the  corpse  of  an  aged  nun.  The  organ  performed  a  solemn 
requiem  :  the  nuns  joining  in  chorus.  When  the  funeral  service 
was  finished,  a  melodious  voice  chanted,  "  Requiescat  in  pace  ! " 
— <•"  May  she  rest  in  peace  !  "  The  lights  immediately  vanished ; 
the  whole  passed  away  as  a  dream  ;  and  the  cavalier  found  him 
self  at  the  foot  of  the  cross,  and  beheld,  by  the  faint  rays  of  the 
rising  moon,  his  steed  quietly  grazing  near  him. 

When  the  day  dawned,  he  descended  the  hill,  and  following 


LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT.       339 


the  course  of  a  small  brook,  came  to  a  cave,  at  the  entrance  of 
which  was  seated  an  ancient  man,  in  hermit's  garb,  with  rosary 
and  cross,  and  a  beard  that  descended  to  his  girdle.  He  was 
one  of  those  holy  anchorites  permitted  by  the  Moors  to  live  un 
molested  in  the  dens  and  caves,  and  humble  hermitages,  and  even 
to  practise  the  rites  of  their  religion.  The  cavalier,  dismount 
ing,  knelt  and  craved  a  benediction.  He  then  related  all  that 
had  befallen  him  in  the  night,  and  besought  the  hermit  to  explain 
the  mystery. 

"  What  thou  hast  heard  and  seen,  my  son,"  replied  the  other, 
(<  is  but  a  type  and  shadow  of  the  woes  of  Spain. " 

He  then  related  the  foregoing  story  of  the  miraculous  deliv 
erance  of  the  convent. 

"  Forty  years,"  added  the  holy  man,  "  have  elapsed  since  this 
event,  yet  the  bells  of  that  sacred  edifice  are  still  heard,  from 
time  to  time,  sounding  from  underground,  together  with  the 
pealing  of  the  organ,  and  the  chanting  of  the  choir.  The  Moors 
avoid  this  neighborhood,  as  haunted  ground,  and  the  whole  place, 
as  thou  mayest  perceive,  has  become  covered  with  a  thick  and 
lonely  forest." 

The  cavalier  listened  with  wonder  to  the  story.  For  three 
days  and  nights  did  he  keep  vigils  with  the  holy  man  beside  the 
cross  ;  but  nothing  more  was  to  be  seen  of  nun  or  convent.  It 
is  supposed  that,  forty  years  having  elapsed,  the  natural  lives  of 
all  the  nuns  were  finished,  and  the  cavalier  had  beheld  the  obse 
quies  of  the  last.  Certain  it  is,  that  from  that  time,  bell,  and 
organ,  and  choral  chant,  have  never  more  been  heard. 

The  mouldering  pinnacle,  surmounted  by  the  cross,  remains 
an  object  of  pious  pilgrimage.  Some  say  that  it  anciently  stood 


340       LEGEND  OF  THE  ENGULPHED  CONVENT. 


in  front  of  the  convent,  but  others  that  it  was  the  spire  which 
remained  above  ground,  when  the  main  body  of  the  building  sank, 
like  the  topmast  of  some  tall  ship  that  has  foundered.  These 
pious  believers  maintain,  that  the  convent  is  miraculously  pre 
served  entire  in  the  centre  of  the  mountain,  where,  if  proper  ex 
cavations  were  made,  it  would  be  found,  with  all  its  treasures, 
and  monuments,  and  shrines,  and  relics,  and  the  tombs  of  its 
virgin  nuns. 

Should  any  one  doubt  the  truth  of  this  marvellous  interposi 
tion  of  the  Virgin,  to  protect  the  vestal  purity  of  her  votaries, 
let  him  read  the  excellent  work  entitled  "  Espana  Triumphante," 
written  by  Fray  Antonio  de  Sancta  Maria,  a  barefoot  friar  of 
the  Carmelite  order,  and  he  will  doubt  no  longer. 


THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 

Break,  Phantsie,  from  thy  cave  of  cloud, 

And  wave  thy  purple  wings, 
Now  all  thy  figures  are  allowed, 

And  various  shapes  of  things. 
Create  of  airy  forms  a  stream ; 

It  must  have  blood  and  naught  of  phlegm ; 
And  though  it  be  a  walking  dream, 

Yet  let  it  like  an  odor  rise 
To  all  the  senses  here, 

And  fall  like  sleep  upon  their  eyes, 
Or  music  on  their  ear. — BEN  JONSOIT. 

"  THERE  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamed 
of  in  our  philosophy,"  and  among  these  may  be  placed  that  mar 
vel  and  mystery  of  the  seas,  the  Island  of  St.  Brandan.  Those 
who  have  read  the  history  of  the  Canaries,  the  fortunate  islands 
of  the  ancients,  may  remember  the  wonders  told  of  this  enigmati 
cal  island.  Occasionally  it  would  be  Visible  from  their  shores, 
stretching  away  in  the  clear  bright  west,  to  all  appearance  sub 
stantial  like  themselves,  and  still  more  beautiful.  Expeditions 
would  launch  forth  from  the  Canaries  to  explore  this  land  of 
promise.  For  a  time  its  sun-gilt  peaks  and  long,  shadowy  prom 
ontories  would  remain  distinctly  visible,  but  in  proportion  as  tho 
voyagers  approached,  peak  and  promontory  would  gradually  fade 


342  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


away  until  nothing  would  remain  but  blue  sky  above,  and  deep 
blue  water  below.  Hence  this  mysterious  isle  was  stigmatized 
by  ancient  cosmographers  with  the  name  of  Aprositus  or  the  In 
accessible.  The  failure  of  numerous  expeditions  sent  in  quest 
of  it,  both  in  ancient  and  modern  days,  have  at  length  caused  its 
very  existence  to  be  called  in  question,  and  it  has  been  rashly 
pronounced  a  mere  optical  illusion,  like  the  Fata  Morgana  of  the 
Straits  of  Messina,  or  has  been  classed  with  those  unsubstantial 
regions  known  to  mariners  as  Cape  Fly  Away  and  the  coast  of 
Cloud  Land. 

Let  us  not  permit,  however,  the  doubts  of  worldly-wise  skep 
tics  to  rob  us  of  all  the  glorious  realms  owned  by  happy  credu 
lity  in  days  of  yore.  Be  assured,  0  reader  of  easy  faith  ! — thou 
for  whom  it  is  my  delight  to  labor — be  assured  that  such  an 
island  actually  exists,  and  has  from  time  to  time,  been  revealed 
to  the  gaze,  and  trodden  by  the  feet,  of  favored  mortals.  Histo 
rians  and  philosophers  may  have  their  doubts,  but  its  existence 
has  been  fully  attested  by  that  inspired  race,  the  poets ;  who, 
being  gifted  with  a  kind  of  second  sight,  are  enabled  to  discern 
those  mysteries  of  nature  hidden  from  the  eyes  of  ordinary  men. 
To  this  gifted  race  it  has  ever  been  a  kind  of  wonder-land. 
Here  once  bloomed,  and  perhaps  still  blooms,  the  famous  gar 
den  of  the  Hesperides,  with  its  golden  fruit.  Here,  too,  the 
sorceress  Armida  had  her  enchanted  garden,  in  which  she  held 
the  Christian  paladin,  Rinaldo,  in  delicious  but  inglorious  thral 
dom,  as  set  forth  in  the  immortal  lay  of  Tasso.  It  was  in  this 
island  that  Sycorax  the  witch  held  sway,  when  the  good  Pros- 
pero  and  his  infant  daughter  Miranda,  were  wafted  to  its  shores. 
Who  does  not  know  the  tale  as  told  in  the  magic  page  of  Shakes 
peare  ?  The  isle  was  then 


THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND.  343 


;  full  of  noises, 


Sounds,  and  sweet  airs,  that  give  delight,  and  hurt  not." 

The  island,  in  fact  at  different  times,  has  been  under  the  sway 
of  different  powers,  genii  of  earth,  and  air,  and  ocean,  who  have 
made  it  their  shadowy  abode.  Hither  have  retired  many  classic 
but  broken-down  deities,  shorn  of  almost  all  their  attributes,  but 
who  once  ruled  the  poetic  world.  Here  Neptune  and  Amphi- 
trite  hold  a  diminished  court ;  sovereigns  in  exile.  Their  ocean 
chariot,  almost  a  wreck,  lies  bottom  upward  in  some  sea-beaten 
cavern ;  their  pursv  Tritons  and  haggard  Nereids  bask  listlessly 
like  seals  about  the  rocks.  Sometimes  those  deities  assume,  it  is 
said,  a  shadow  of  their  ancient  pomp,  and  glide  in  state  about  a 
summer  sea  ;  and  then,  as  some  tall  Indiaman  lies  becalmed  with 
idly  flapping  sail,  her  drowsy  crew  may  hear  the  mellow  note  of 
the  Triton's  shell  swelling  upon  the  ear  as  the  invisible  pageant 
sweeps  by. 

On  the  shores  of  this  wondrous  isle  the  kraken  heaves  its 
unwieldy  bulk  and  wallows  many  a  rood.  Here  the  sea-ser 
pent,  that  mighty  but  much  contested  reptile,  lies  coiled  up  during 
the  intervals  of  its  revelations  to  the  eyes  of  true  believers.  Here 
even  the  Flying  Dutchman  finds  a  port,  and  casts  his  anchor,  and 
furls  his  shadowy  sail,  and  takes  a  brief  repose  from  his  eternal 
cruisings. 

In  the  deep  bays  and  harbors  of  the  island  lies  many  a  spell 
bound  ship,  long  since  given  up  as  lost  by  the  ruined  merchant, 
Here  too  its  crew,  long,  long  bewailed  in  vain,  lie  sleeping  from  age 
to  age,  in  mossy  grottoes,  or  wander  about  in  pleasing  oblivion  of 
all  things.  Here  in  caverns  are  garnered  up  the  priceless  trea- 


344  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


sures  lost  in  the  ocean.  Here  sparkles  in  vain  the  diamond  and 
flames  the  carbuncle.  Here  are  piled  up  rich  bales  of  Oriental 
silks,  boxes  of  pearls,  and  piles  of  golden  ingots. 

Such  are  soihe  of  the  marvels  related  of  this  island,  which 
may  serve  to  throw  light  upon  the  following  legend,  of  unques 
tionable  truth,  which  I  recommend  to  the  implicit  belief  of  the 
reader. 


THE    ADALANTADO    OF    THE    SEVEN    CITIES. 

A  LEGEND   OF   ST.  BRANDAN. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth  century,  when  Prince  Henry 
of  Portugal,  of  worthy  memory,  was  pushing  the  career  of  dis 
covery  along  the  western  coast  of  Africa,  and  the  world  was 
resounding  with  reports  of  golden  regions  on  the  mainland,  and 
new-found  islands  in  the  ocean,  there  arrived  at  Lisbon  an  old 
bewildered  pilot  of  the  seas,  who  had  been  driven  by  tempests, 
he  knew  not  whither,  and  raved  about  an  island  far  in  the  deep, 
upon  which  he  had  landed,  and  which  he  had  found  peopled  with 
Christians,  and  adorned  with  noble  cities. 

The  inhabitants,  he  said,  having  never  before  been  visited  by 
a  ship,  gathered  round,  and  regarded  him  with  surprise.  They 
told  him  they  were  descendants  of  a  band  of  Christians,  who  fled 
from  Spain  when  that  country  was  conquered  by  the  Moslems. 
They  were  curious  about  the  state  of  their  fatherland,  and 
grieved  to  hear  that  the  Moslems  still  held  possession  of  the 
kingdom  of  Granada.  They  would  have  taken  the  old  navigator 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  345 


to  church,  to  convince  him  of  their  orthodoxy;  but,  either 
through  lack  of  devotion,  or  lack  of  faith  in  their  words,  he  de 
clined  their  invitation,  and  preferred  to  return  on  board  of  his 
ship.  He  was  properly  punished.  A  furious'  storm  arose,  drove 
him  from  his  anchorage,  hurried  him  out  to  sea,  and  he  saw  no 
more  of  the  unknown  island. 

This  strange  story  caused  great  marvel  in  Lisbon  and  else 
where.  Those  versed  in  history,  remembered  to  have  read,  in 
an  ancient  chronicle,  that,  at  the  time  of  the  conquest  of  Spain, 
in  the  eighth  century,  when  the  blessed  cross  was  cast  down,  and 
the  crescent  erected  in  its  place,  and  when  Christian  churches 
were  turned  into  Moslem  mosques,  seven  bishops,  at  the  head  of 
seven  bands  of  pious  exiles,  had  fled  from  the  peninsula,  and 
embarked  in  que«t  of  some  ocean  island,  or  distant  land,  where 
they  might  found  seven  Christian  cities,  and  enjoy  their  faith 
unmolested. 

The  fate  of  these  saints  errant  had  hitherto  remained  a  mys 
tery,  and  their  story  had  faded  from  memory ;  the  report  of  the 
old  tempest-tossed  pilot,  however,  revived  this  long-forgotten 
theme ;  and  it  was  determined  by  the  pious  and  enthusiastic, 
that  the  island  thus  accidentally  discovered,  was  the  identical 
place  of  refuge,  whither  the  wandering  bishops  had  been  guided 
by  a  protecting  Providence,  and  where  they  had  folded  their 
flocks. 

This  most  excitable  of  worlds  has  always  some  darling  object 
of  chimerical  enterprise ;  the  "  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities  "  now 
awakened  as  much  interest  and  longing  among  zealous  Christians, 
as  has  the  renowned  city  of  Timbuctoo  among  adventurous  travel 
lers,  or  the  Northeast  passage  among  hardy  navigators ;  and  it 

15* 


346  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


was  a  frequent  prayer  of  the  devout,  that  these  scattered  and  lost 
portions  of  the  Christian  family  might  be  discovered,  and  reunited 
to  the  great  body  of  Christendom. 

No  one,  however,  entered  into  the  matter  with  half  the  zeal 
of  Don  Fernando  de  TJlmo,  a  young  cavalier,  of  high  standing  in 
the  Portuguese  court,  and  of  most  sanguine  and  romantic  temper 
ament.  He  had  recently  come  to  his  estate,  and  had  run  the 
round  of  all  kinds  of  pleasures  and  excitements,  when  this  new 
theme  of  popular  talk  and  wonder  presented  itself.  The  Island  of 
the  Seven  Cities  became  now  the  constant  subject  of  his  thoughts 
by  day,  and  his  dreams  by  night:  it  even  rivalled  his  passion  for 
a  beautiful  girl,  one  of  the  greatest  belles  of  Lisbon,  to  whom  he 
was  betrothed.  At  length,  his  imagination  became  so  inflamed 
on  the  subject,  that  he  determined  to  fit  out  an  expedition,  at  his 
own  expense,  and  set  sail  in  quest  of  this  sainted  island.  It 
could  not  be  a  cruise  of  any  great  extent ;  for,  according  to  the 
calculations  of  the  tempest-tossed  pilot,  it  must  be  somewhere  in 
>  e  latitude -of  the  Canaries;  which  at  that  time,  when  the  new 
world  was  as  yet  undiscovered,  formed  the  frontier  of  ocean  en 
terprise.  Don  Fernando  applied  to  the  crown  for  countenance 
and  protection.  As  he  was  a  favorite  at  court,  the  usual  patron 
age  was  readily  extended  to  him  ;  that  is  to  say,  he  received  a 
commission  from  the  king,  Don  loam  II.,  constituting  him  Ada- 
lantado,  or  military  governor,  of  any  country  he  might  discover, 
with  the  single  proviso,  that  he  should  bear  all  the  expenses  of 
the  discovery,  and  pay  a  tenth  of  the  profits  to  the  crown. 

Don  Fernando  now  set  to  work  in  the  true  spirit  of  a  pro 
jector.  He  sold  acre  after  acre  of  solid  land,  and  invested  the 
proceeds  in  ships,  guns,  ammunition,  and  sea-stores.  Even  his 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  347 


old  family  mansion,  in  Lisbon,  was  mortgaged  without  scruple, 
for  he  looked  forward  to  a  palace  in  one  of  the  Seven  Cities,  of 
which  he  was  to  be  Adalantado.  This  was  the  age  of  nautical 
romance,  when  the  thoughts  of  all  speculative  dreamers  were 
turned  to  the  ocean.  The  scheme  of  Don  Fernando,  therefore, 
drew  adventurers  of  every  kind.  The  merchant  promised  him 
self  new  marts  of  opulent  traffic ;  the  soldier  hoped  to  sack  and 
plunder  some  one  or  other  of  those  Seven  Cities;  even  the  fat 
monk  shook  off  the  sleep  and  sloth  of  the  cloister,  to  join  in  a 
crusade  which  promised  such  increase  to  the  possessions  of  the 
church. 

One  person  alone  regarded  the  whole  project  with  sovereign 
contempt  and  growling  hostility.  This  was  Don  Ramiro  Alvarez, 
the  father  of  the  beautiful  Serafina,  to  whom  Don  Fernando  was 
betrothed.  He  was  one  of  those  perverse,  matter-of-fact  old 
men,  who  are  prone  to  oppose  every  thing  speculative  and  ro 
mantic.  He  had  no  faith  in  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities; 
regarded  the  projected  cruise  as  a  crack-brained  freak;  looked 
with  angry  eye  and  internal  heart-burning  on  the  conduct  of  his 
intended  son-in-law,  chaffering  away  solid  lands  for  lands  in  the 
moon;  and  scoffingly  dubbed  him  Adalantado  of  Cloud  Land. 
In  fact,  he  had  never  really  relished  the  intended  match,  to  which 
his  consent  had  been  slowly  extorted,  by  the  tears  and  entreaties  of 
his  daughter.  It  is  true  he  could  have  no  reasonable  objections 
to  the  youth,  for  Don  Fernando  was  the  very  flower  of  Portu 
guese  chivalry.  No  one  could  excel  him  at  the  tilting  match,  or 
the  riding  at  the  ring ;  none  was  more  bold  and  dexterous  in  the 
bull  fight ;  none  composed  more  gallant  madigrals  in  praise  of 
his  lady's  charms,  or  sang  them  with  sweeter  tones  to  the  accom- 


348  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


paniment  of  her  guitar ;  nor  could  any  one  handle  the  castanets 
and  dance  the  bolero  with  more  captivating  grace.  All  these 
admirable  qualities  and  endowments,  however,  though  they  had 
been  sufficient  to  win  the  heart  of  Serafina,  were  nothing  in  the 
eyes  of  her  unreasonable  father.  Oh  Cupid,  god  of  Love  !  why 
will  fathers  always  be  so  unreasonable  ? 

The  engagement  to  Serafina  had  threatened  at  first  to  throw 
an  obstacle  in  the  way  of  the  expedition  of  Don  Fernando,  and 
for  a  time  perplexed  him  in  the  extreme.  He  was  passionately 
attached  to  the  young  lady  ;  but  he  was  also  passionately  bent 
on  this  romantic  enterprise.  How  should  he  reconcile  the  two 
passionate  inclinations  ?  A  simple  and  obvious  arrangement  at 
length  presented  itself:  marry  Serafina,  enjoy  a  portion  of  the 
honeymoon  at  once,  and  defer  the  rest  until  his  return  from  the 
discovery  of  the  Seven  Cities  ! 

He  hastened  to  make  known  this  most  excellent  arrangement 
to  Don  Ramiro,  when  the  long- smothered  wrath  of  the  old  cava 
lier  burst  forth.  He  reproached  him  with  being  the  dupe  of  wan 
dering  vagabonds  and  wild  schemers,  and  with  squandering  all 
his  real  possessions,  in  pursuit  of  empty  bubbles.  Don  Fernando 
was  too  sanguine  a  projector,  and  too  young  a  man,  to  listen 
tamely  to  such  language.  He  acted  with  what  is  technically 
called  "  becoming  spirit."  A  high  quarrel  ensued  ;  Don  Ramiro 
pronounced  him  a  madman,  and  forbade  all  farther  intercourse 
with  his  daughter,  until  he  should  give  proof  of  returning  sanity, 
by  abandoning  this  madcap  enterprise ;  while  Don  Fernando 
flung  out  of  the  house,  more  bent  than  ever  on  the  expedition, 
from  the  idea  of  triumphing  over  the  incredulity  of  the  gray- 
beard,  when  he  should  return  successful.  Don  Ramiro's  heart 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  349 


misgave  him.  Who  knows,  thought  he,  but  this  crack-brained 
visionary  may  persuade  my  daughter  to  elope  with  him,  and 
share  his  throne  in  this  unknown  paradise  of  fools  ?  If  I  could 
only  keep  her  safe  until  his  ships  are  fairly  out  at  sea ! 

He  repaired  to  her  apartment,  represented  to  her  the  san 
guine,  unsteady  character  of  her  lover  and  the  chimerical  value 
of  his  schemes,  and  urged  the  propriety  of  suspending  all  inter 
course  with  him  until  he  should  recover  from  his  present  halluci 
nation.  She  bowed  her  head  as  if  in  filial  acquiescence,  whereupon 
he  folded  her  to  his  bosom  with  parental  fondness  and  kissed  away 
a  tear  that  was  stealing  over  her  cheek,  but  as  he  left  the  chamber 
quietly  turned  the  key  on  the  lock ;  for  though  he  was  a  fond  fa 
ther  and  had  a  high  opinion  of  the  submissive  temper  of  his  child, 
he  had  a  still  higher  opinion  of  the  conservative  virtues  of  lock 
and  key,  and  determined  to  trust  to  them  until  the  caravels 
should  sail.  Whether  the  damsel  had  been  in  any  wise  shaken  in 
her  faith  as  to  the  schemes  of  her  lover  by  her  father's  eloquence, 
tradition  does  not  say ;  but  certain  it  is,  that,  the  moment  she 
heard  the  key  turn  in  the  lock,  she  became  a  firm  Deliever  in  the 
Island  of  the  Seven  Cities. 

The  door  was  locked ;  but  her  will  was  unconfined.  A  window 
of  the  chamber  opened  into  one  of  those  stone  balconies,  secured 
by  iron  bars,  which  project  like  huge  cages  from  Portuguese  and 
Spanish  houses.  Within  this  balcony  the  beautiful  Serafina  had 
her  birds  and  flowers,  and  here  she  was  accustomed  to  sit  on  moon 
light  nights  as  in  a  bower,  and  touch  her  guitar  and  sing  like  a 
wakeful  nightingale.  From  this  balcony  an  intercourse  was  now 
maintained  between  the  lovers,  against  which  the  lock  and  key  of 
Don  Ranairo  were  of  no  avail.  All  day  would  Fernando  be  occu- 


360  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


pied  hurrying  the  equipments  of  his  ships,  but  evening  found  him 
in  sweet  discourse  beneath  his  lady's  window. 

At  length  the  preparations  were  completed.  Two  gallant  ca 
ravels  lay  at  anchor  in  the  Tagus  ready  to  sail  at  sunrise.  Late 
at  night  by  the  pale  light  of  a  waning  moon  the  lover  had  his 
last  interview.  The  beautiful  Serafina  was  sad  at  heart  and  full 
of  dark  forebodings;  her  lover  full  of  hope  and  confidence  "A 
few  short  months,"  said  he,  "  and  I  shall  return  in  triumph.  Thy 
father  will  then  blush  at  his  incredulity,  and  hasten  to  welcome  to 
his  house  the  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities." 

The  gentle  lady  shook  her  head.  It  was  not  on  this  point  she 
felt  distrust.  She  was  a  thorough  believer  in  the  Island  of  the 
Seven  Cities,  and  so  sure  of  the  success  of  the  enterprise  that  she 
might  have  been  tempted  to  join  it  had  not  the  balcony  been 
high  and  the  grating  strong.  Other  considerations  induced  that 
dubious  shaking  of  the  head.  She  had  heard  of  the  inconstancy 
of  the  seas,  and  the  inconstancy  of  those  who  roam  them.  Might 
not  Fernando  meet  with  other  loves  in  foreign  ports  ?  Might  not 
some  peerless  beauty  in  one  or  other  of  those  Seven  Cities  efface  the 
image  of  Serafina  from  his  mind  ?  Now  let  the  truth  be  spoken, 
the  beautiful  Serafina  had  reason  for  her  disquiet.  If  Don  Fernan 
do  had  any  fault  in  the  world,  it  was  that  of  being  rather  inflam 
mable  and  apt  to  take  fire  from  every  sparkling  eye.  He  had  been 
somewhat  of  a  rover  among  the  sex  on  shore,  what  might  he  be  on 
sea? 

She  ventured  to  express  her  doubt,  but  he  spurned  at  the 
very  idea.  "  What !  he  false  to  Serafina  !  He  bow  at  the  shrine 
of  another  beauty  ?  Never  !  never  ! "  Repeatedly  did  he  bend 
his  knee,  and  smite  his  breast,  and  call  upon  the  silver  moon  to 
witness  his  sincerity  and  truth. 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  351 


He  retorted  the  doubt,  "  Might  not  Serafina  herself  forget 
her  plighted  faith  ?  Might  not  some  wealthier  rival  present  him 
self  while  he  was  tossing  on  the  sea ;  and,  backed  by  her  father's 
wishes,  win  the  treasure  of  her  hand  ! " 

The  beautiful  Serafina  raised  her  white  arms  between  the  iron 
bars  of  the  balcony,  and,  like  her  lover,  invoked  the  moon  to 
testify  her  vows.  Alas  !  how  little  did  Fernando  know  her 
heart.  The  more  her  father  should  oppose,  the  more  would  she 
be  fixed  in  faith.  Though  years  should  intervene,  Fernando  on 
his  return  would  find  her  true.  Even  should  the  salt  sea  swal 
low  him  up  (and  her  eyes  shed  salt  tears  at  the  very  thought), 
never  would  she  be  the  wife  of  another  !  Never,  never,  NEVER  ! 
She  drew  from  her  finger  a  ring  gemmed  with  a  ruby  heart,  and 
dropped  it  from  the  balcony,  a  parting  pledge  of  constancy. 

Thus  the  lovers  parted  with  many  a  tender  word  and  plighted 
vow.  But  will  they  keep  those  vows  ?  Perish  the  doubt ! 
Have  they  not  called  the  constant  moon  to  witness  ? 

With  the  morning  dawn  the  caravels  dropped  down  the  Ta- 
gus,  and  put  to  sea.  They  steered  for  the  Canaries,  in  those 
days  the  regions  of  nautical  discovery  and  romance,  and  the  out 
posts  of  the  known  world,  for  as  yet  Columbus  had  not  steered 
his  daring  barks  across  the  ocean.  Scarce  had  they  reached 
those  latitudes  when  they  were  separated  by  a  violent  tempest. 
For  many  days  was  the  caravel  of  Don  Fernando  driven  about 
at  the  mercy  of  the  elements ;  all  seamanship  was  baffled,  de 
struction  seemed  inevitable  and  the  crew  were  in  despair.  All 
at  once  the  storm  subsided ;  the  ocean  sank  into  a  calm ;  the 
clouds  which  had  veiled  the  face  of  heaven  were  suddenly  with 
drawn,  and  the  tempest-tossed  mariners  beheld  a  fair  and  moun- 


352  THE  THANTOM  ISLAND. 


tainous  island,  emerging  as  if  by  enchantment  from  the  murky 
gloom.  They  rubbed  their  eyes  and  gazed  for  a  time  almost  in 
credulously,  yet  there  lay  the  island  spread  out  in  lovely  land 
scapes,  with  the  late  stormy  sea  laving  its  shores  with  peaceful 
billows. 

The  pilot  of  the  caravel  consulted  his  maps  and  charts ;  no 
island  like  the  one  before  him  was  laid  down  as  existing  in  those 
parts  ;  it  is  true  he  had  lost  his  reckoning  in  the  late  storm, 
but,  according  to  his  calculations,  he  could  not  be  far  from  the 
Canaries  ;  and  this  was  not  one  of  that  group  of  islands.  The 
caravel  now  lay  perfectly  becalmed  off  the  mouth  of  a  river,  on 
the  banks  of  which,  about  a  league  from  the  sea,  was  descried  a 
noble  city,  with  lofty  walls  and  towers,  and  a  protecting  castle. 

After  a  time,  a  stately  barge  with  sixteen  oars  was  seen 
emerging  from  the  river,  and  approaching  the  caravel.  It  was 
quaintly  carved  and  gilt ;  the  oarsmen  were  clad  in  antique  garb, 
their  oars  painted  of  a  bright  crimson,  and  they  came  slowly  and 
solemnly,  keeping  time  as  they  rowed  to  the  cadence  of  an  old 
Spanish  ditty.  Under  a  silken  canopy  in  the  stern,  sat  a  cava 
lier  richly  clad,  and  over  his  head  was  a  banner  bearing  the  sa 
cred  emblem  of  the  cross. 

When  the  barge  reached  the  caravel,  the  cavalier  stepped  on 
board.  He  was  tall  and  gaunt ;  with  a  long  Spanish  visage, 
moustaches  that  curled  up  to  his  eyes,  and  a  forked  beard.  He 
wore  gauntlets  reaching  to  his  elbows,  a  Toledo  blade  strutting 
out  behind,  with  a  basket  hilt,  in  which  he  carried  his  handker 
chief.  His  air  was  lofty  and  precise,  and  bespoke  indisputably 
the  hidalgo.  Thrusting  out  a  long  spindle  leg,  he  took  off  a 
huge  sombrero,  and  swaying  it  until  the  feather  swept  the 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN"  CITIES.  353 


ground,  accosted  Don  Fernando  in  the  old  Castilian  language 

and  with  the  old  Castilian  courtesy,  welcoming  him  to  the  Island 

of  the  Seven  Cities. 

Don  Fernando  was  overwhelmed  with  astonishment.     Could 

this  be  true  ?*    Had  he  really  been  tempest-driven  to  the  very 
land  of  which  he  was  in  quest  ? 

It  was  even  so.  That  very  day  the  inhabitants  were  holding 
high  festival  in  commemoration  of  the  escape  of  their  ancestors 
from  the  Moors.  The  arrival  of  the  caravel  at  such  a  juncture 
was  considered  a  good  omen,  the  accomplishment  of  an  ancient 
prophecy  through  which  the  island  was  to  be  restored  to  the 
great  community  of  Christendom.  The  cavalier  before  him  was 
grand-chamberlain,  sent  by  the  alcayde  to  invite  him  to  the  fes 
tivities  of  the  capital. 

Don  Fernando  could  scarce  believe  that  this  was  not  all  a 
dream.  He  made  known  his  name,  and  the  object  of  his  voyage. 
The  grand  chamberlain  declared  that  all  was  in  perfect  ac 
cordance  with  the  ancient  prophecy,  and  that  the  moment  his 
credentials  were  presented,  he  would  be  acknowledged  as  the 
Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities.  In  the  mean  time  the  day  was 
waning ;  the  barge  was  ready  to  convey  him  to  the  land,  and 
would  as  assuredly  bring  him  back. 

Don  Fernando's  pilot,  a  veteran  of  the  seas,  drew  him  aside 
and  expostulated  against  his  venturing,  on  the  mere  word  of  a 
stranger,  to  land  in  a  strange  barge  on  an  unknown  shore. 
"  Who  knows,  Senor,  what  land  this  is,  or  what  people  in 
habit  it?" 

Don  Fernando  was  not  to  be  dissuaded.  Had  he  not  be 
lieved  in  this  island  when  all  the  world  doubted  ?  Had  he  not 


854  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


sought  it  in  defiance  of  storm  and  tempest,  and  was  he  now  to 
shrink  from  its  shores  when  they  lay  before  him  in  calm 
weather  ?  In  a  word,  was  not  faith  the  very  corner-stone  of 
his  enterprise  ? 

Having  arrayed  himself,  therefore,  in  gala  drei&  befitting  the 
occasion,  he  took  his  seat  in  the  barge.  The  grand  chamberlain 
seated  himself  opposite.  The  rowers  plied  their  oars,  and  re 
newed  the  mournful  old  ditty,  and  the  gorgeous  but  unwieldy 
barge  moved  slowly  through  the  water. 

The  night  closed  in  before  they  entered  the  river,  and  swept 
along  past  rock  and  promontory,  each  guarded  by  its  tower.  At 
every  post  they  were  challenged  by  the  sentinel. 

"  Who  goes  there?" 

"  The  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities." 
•    "  Welcome,  Senor  Adalantado.     Pass  on." 

Entering  the  harbor  they  rowed  close  by  an  armed  galley  of 
ancient  form.  Soldiers  with  crossbows  patrolled  the  deck. 

"  Who  goes  there?" 

"  The  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities." 

"  Welcome,  Senor  Adalantado.     Pass  on." 

They  landed  at  a  broad  flight  of  stone  steps,  leading  up  be 
tween  two  massive  towers,  and  knocked  at  the  water-gate.  A 
sentinel,  in  ancient  steel  casque,  looked  from  the  barbecan. 

"Who  is  there?" 

"  The  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities." 

"  Welcome,  Senor  Adalantado." 

The  gate  swung  open,  grating  upon  rusty  hinges.  They  en 
tered  between  two  row  sof  warriors  in  Gothic  armor,  with  cross 
bows,  maces,  battle-axes,  and  faces  old-fashioned  as  their  armor. 


TEE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  355 


There  were  processions  through  the  streets,  in  commemoration 
of  the  landing  of  the  seven  Bishops  and  their  followers,  and  bon 
fires,  at  which  effigies  of  losel  Moors  expiated  their  invasion  of 
Christendom  by  a  kind  of  auto-da-fe.  The  groups  round  the 
fires,  uncouth  in  ttteir  attire,  looked  like  the  fantastic  figures 
that  roam  the  streets  in  Carnival  time.  Even  the  dames  who 
gazed  down  from  Gothic  balconies  hung  with  antique  tapestry,  re 
sembled  effigies  dressed  up  in  Christmas  mummeries.  Every 
thing,  in  short,  bore  the  stamp  of  former  ages,  as  if  the  world  had 
suddenly  rolled  back  for  several  centuries.  Nor  was  this  to  be 
wondered  at.  Had  not  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities  been  cut 
off  from  the  rest  of  the  world  for  several  hundred  years ;  and 
were  not  these  the  modes  and  customs  of  Gothic  Spain  before  it 
was  conquered  by  the  Moors  ? 

Arrived  at  the  palace  of  the  alcayde,  the  grand  chamberlain 
knocked  at  the  portal.  The  porter  looked  through  a  wicket,  and 
demanded  who  was  there. 

"  The  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities." 

The  portal  was  thrown  wide  open.  The  grand  chamberlain 
led  the  way  up  a  vast,  heavily-moulded,  marble  staircase,  and 
into  a  hall  of  ceremony,  where  was  the  alcayde  with  several  of 
the  principal  dignitaries  of  the  city,  who  had  a  marvellous  re 
semblance,  in  form  and  feature,  to  the  quaint  figures  in  old  illu 
minated  manuscripts. 

The  grand  chamberlain  stepped  forward  and  announced  the 
name  and  title  of  the  stranger  guest,  and  the  extraordinary 
nature  of  his  mission.  The  announcement  appeared  to  create  no 
extraordinary  emotion  or  surprise,  but  to  be  received  as  the  an 
ticipated  fulfilment  of  a  prophecy. 


356  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


The  reception  of  Don  Fernando,  however,  was  profoundly 
gracious,  though  in  the  same  style  of  stately  courtesy  which 
every  where  prevailed.  He  would  have  produced  his  credentials, 
but  this  was  courteously  declined.  The  evening  was  devoted  to 
high  festivity ;  the  following  day,  when  he  should  enter  the  port 
with  his  caravel,  would  be  devoted  to  business,  when  the  creden 
tials  would  be  received  in  due  form,  and  he  inducted  into  office 
as  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities. 

Don  Fernando  was  now  conducted  through  one  of  those  inter 
minable  suites  of  apartments,  the  pride  of  Spanish  palaces,  all 
furnished  in  a  style  of  obsolete  magnificence.  In  a  vast  saloon 
blazing  with  tapers  was  assembled  all  the  aristocracy  and  fashion 
of  the  city ;  stately  dames  and  cavaliers,  the  very  counterpart  of 
the  figures  in  the  tapestry  which  decorated  the  walls.  Fernando 
gazed  in  silent  marvel.  It  was  a  reflex  of  the  proud  aristocracy 
of  Spain  in  the  time  of  Roderick  the  Groth. 

The  festivities  of  the  evening  were  all  in  the  style  of  solemn 
and  antiquated  ceremonial.  There  was  a  dance,  but  it  was  as  if 
the  old  tapestry  were  put  in  motion,  and  all  the  figures  moving 
in  stately  measure  about  the  floor.  There  was  one  exception, 
and  one  that  told  powerfully  upon  the  susceptible  Adalantado. 
The  alcayde's  daughter — such  a  ripe,  melting  beauty!  Her 
dress,  it  is  true,  like  the  dresses  of  her  neighbors,  might  have 
been  worn  before  the  flood,  but  she  had  the  black  Andalusian  eye, 
a  glance  of  which,  through  its  long  dark  lashes,  is  irresistible. 
Her  voice,  too,  her  manner,  her  undulating  movements,  all  smacked 
of  Andalusia,  and  showed  how  female  charms  maybe  transmitted 
from  age  to  age,  and  clime  to  clime,  without  ever  going  out  of  fa 
shion.  Those  who  know  the  witchery  of  the  sex,  in  that  most 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  357 


amorous  part  of  amorous  old  Spain,  may  judge  of  the  fascination 
to  which  Don  Fernando  was  exposed,  as  he  joined  in  the  dance 
with  one  of  its  most  captivating  descendants. 

He  sat  beside  her  at  the  banquet !  such  an  old  world  feast ! 
such  obsolete  dainties !  At  the  head  of  the  table  the  peacock, 
that  bird  of  state  and  ceremony,  was  served  up  in  full  plumage 
on  a  golden  dish.  As  Don  Fernando  cast  his  eyes  down  the 
glittering  board,  what  a  vista  presented  itself  of  odd  heads  and 
head-dresses ;  of  formal  bearded  dignitaries  and  stately  dames, 
with  castellated  locks  and  towering  plumes !  Is  it  to  be  won 
dered  at  that  he  should  turn  with  delight  from  these  antiquated 
figures  to  the  alcayde's  daughter,  all  smiles  and  dimples,  and 
melting  looks  and  melting  accents  ?  Beside,  for  I  wish  to  give 
him  every  excuse  in  my  power,  he  was  in  a  particularly  excitable 
mood  from  the  novelty  of  the  scene  before  him,  from  this  realiza 
tion  of  all  his  hopes  and  fancies,  and  from  frequent  draughts  of 
the  wine  cup  presented  to  him  at  every  moment  by  officious  pages 
during  the  banquet. 

In  a  word — there  is  no  concealing  the  matter — before  the  even 
ing  was  over,  Don  Fernando  was  making  love  outright  to  the 
alcayde's  daughter.  They  had  wandered  together  to  a  moon-lit 
balcony  of  the  palace,  and  he  was  charming  her  ear  with  one  of 
those  love  ditties  with  which,  in  a  like  balcony,  he  had  serenaded 
the  beautiful  Serafina. 

The  damsel  hung  her  head  coyly.  "  Ah !  Senor,  these  are 
flattering  words ;  but  you  cavaliers,  who  roam  the  seas,  are  un 
steady  as  its  waves.  To-morrow  you  will  be  throned  in  state, 
Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities ;  and  will  think  no  more  of  the 
alcayde's  daughter." 


358  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


Don  Fernando  in  the  intoxication  of  the  moment  called  the 
moon  to  witness  his  sincerity.  As  he  raised  his  hand  in  adjura 
tion,  the  chaste  moon  cast  a  ray  upon  the  ring  that  sparkled  on 
his  finger.  It  caught  the  damsel's  eye.  "  Signer  Adalantado," 
said  she  archly,  "  I  have  no  great  faith  in  the  moon,  but  give  me 
that  ring  upon  your  finger  in  pledge  of  the  truth  of  what  you 
profess." 

The  gallant  Adalantado  was  taken  by  surprise ;  there  was  no 
parrying  this  sudden  appeal :  before  he  had  time  to  reflect,  the 
ring  of  the  beautiful  Serafina  glittered  on  the  finger  of  the 
.alcayde's  daughter. 

At  this  eventful  moment  the  chamberlain  approached  with 
lofty  demeanor,  and  announced  that  the  barge  was  waiting  to  bear 
him  back  to  the  caravel.  I  forbear  to  relate  the  ceremonious 
partings  with  the  alcayde  and  his  dignitaries,  and  the  tender 
farewell  of  the  alcayde's  daughter.  He  took  his  seat  in  the 
barge  opposite  the  grand  chamberlain.  The  rowers  plied  their 
crimson  oars  in  the  same  slow  and  stately  manner  to  the  cadence 
of  the  same  mournful  old  ditty.  His  brain  was  in  a  whirl  with 
all  that  he  had  seen,  and  his  heart  now  and  then  gave  him  a 
twinge  as  he  thought  of  his  temporary  infidelity  to  the  beautiful 
Serafina.  The  barge  sallied  out  into  the  sea,  but  no  caravel 
was  to  be  seen ;  doubtless  she  had  been  carried  to  a  distance  by 
the  current  of  the  river.  The  oarsmen  rowed  on ;  their  monoto 
nous  chant  had  a  lulling  effect.  A  drowsy  influence  crept  over 
Don  Fernando.  Objects  swam  before  his  eyes.  The  oarsmen 
assumed  odd  shapes  as  in  a  dream.  The  grand  chamberlain  grew 
larger  and  larger,  and  taller  and  taller.  He  took  off  his  huge 
sombrero,  and  held  it  over  the  head  of  Don  Fernando,  like  an  ex- 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  359 


tinguisher  over  a  candle.  The  latter  cowered  beneath  it ;  he  felt 
himself  sinking  in  the  socket. 

"  Good  night !  Senor  Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities  !  "  said 
the  grand  chamberlain. 

The  sombrero  slowly  descended — Don  Fernando  was  extin 
guished  ! 

How  long  he  remained  extinct  no  mortal  man  can  tell.  When 
he  returned  to  consciousness,  he  found  himself  in  a  strange  cabin, 
surrounded  by  strangers.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  looked  round 
him  wildly.  Where  was  he  ? — On  board  of  a  Portuguese  ship, 
bound  to  Lisbon.  How  came  he  there? — He  had  been  taken 
senseless  from  a  wreck  drifting  about  the  ocean. 

Don  Fernando  was  more  and  more  confounded  and  perplexed. 
He  recalled,  one  by  one,  every  thing  that  had  happened  to  him 
in  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  until  he  had  been  extin 
guished  by  the  sombrero  of  the  grand  chamberlain.  But  what 
had  happened  to  him  since  ?  What  had  become  of  his  caravel  ? 
Was  it  the  wreck  of  her  on  which  he  had  been  found  floating  ? 

The  people  about  him  could  give  no  information  on  the 
subject.  He  entreated  them  to  take  him  to  the  Island  of  the 
Seven  Cities,  which  could  not  be  far  off.  Told  them  all  that 
had  befallen  him  there.  That  he  had  but  to  land  to  be  received 
as  Adalantado  ;  when  he  would  reward  them  magnificently  for 
their  services. 

They  regarded  his  words  as  the  ravings  of  delirium,  and  in 
their  honest  solicitude  for-  the  restoration  of  his  reason,  adminis 
tered  such  rough  remedies  that  he  was  fain  to  drop  the  subject 
and  observe  a  cautious  taciturnity. 

At  length  they  arrived  in  the  Tagus,  and  anchored  before 


860  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


the  famous  city  of  Lisbon.  Don  Fernando  sprang  joyfully  on 
shore,  and  hastened  to  his  ancestral  mansion.  A  strange  porter 
opened  the  door,  who  knew  nothing  of  him  or  of  his  family ;  no 
people  of  the  name  had  inhabited  the  house  for  many  a  year. 

He  sought  the  mansion  of  Don  Ramiro.  He  approached  the 
balcony  beneath  which  he  had  bidden  farewell  to  Serafina.  Did 
his  eyes  deceive  him  ?  No  !  There  was  Serafina  herself  among 
the  flowers  in  the  balcony.  He  raised  his  arms  toward  her  with 
an  exclamation  of  rapture.  She  cast  upon  him  a  look  of  indig 
nation,  and.  hastily  retiring,  closed  the  casement  with  a  slam 
that  testified  her  displeasure. 

Could  she  have  heard  of  his  flirtation  with  the  alcayde's 
daughter  ?  But  that  was  mere  transient  gallantry.  A  mo 
ment's  interview  would  dispel  every  doubt  of  his  constancy. 

He  rang  at  the  door ;  as  it  was  opened  by  the  porter  he 
rushed  up  stairs ;  sought  the  well-known  chamber,  and  threw 
himself  at  the  feet  of  Serafina.  She  started  back  with  affright, 
and  took  refuge  in  the  arms  of  a  youthful  cavalier. 

"  What  mean  you,  Senor,"  cried  the  latter,  "by  this  intrusion?  " 

"  What  right  have  you  to  ask  the  question  ?"  demanded  Don 
Fernando  fiercely. 

"  The  right  of  an  affianced  suitor  ! " 

Don  Fernando  started  and  turned  pale.  "  Oh,  Serafina  ! 
Serafiiia!"  cried  he,  in  a  tone  of  agony;  "is  this  thy  plighted 
constancy?" 

"  Serafina  ?  What  mean  you  by  Serafina,  Senor  ?  If  this 
be  the  lady  you  intend,  her  name  is  Maria." 

"  May  I  not  believe  my  senses  ?  May  I  not  believe  my 
heart?"  cried  Don  Fernando.  "Is  not  this  Serafina  Alvarez, 


THE  ADALANTADO  OE  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  361 


the  original  of  yon  portrait,  which,  less  fickle  than  herself,  still 
smiles  on  me  from  the  wall  ?  " 

"  Holy  Virgin  ! "  cried  the  young  lady,  casting  her  eyes  upon 
the  portrait.  "  He  is  talking  of  my  great-grandmother  I " 

An  explanation  ensued,  if  that  could  be  called  an  explana 
tion,  which  plunged  the  unfortunate  Fernando  into  tenfold  per 
plexity.  If  he  might  believe  his  eyes,  he  saw  before  him  his 
beloved  Serafina  ;  if  he  might  believe  his  ears,  it  was  merely  her 
hereditary  form  and  features,  perpetuated  in  the  person  of  her 
great-granddaughter. 

His  brain  began  to  spin.  He  sought  the  office  of  the  Minis 
ter  of  Marine,  and  made  a  report  of  his  expedition,  and  of  the 
Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  which  he  had  so  fortunately  discov 
ered.  Nobody  knew  any  thing  of  such  an  expedition,  or  such 
an  island.  He  declared  that  he  had  undertaken  the  enterprise 
under  a  formal  contract  with  the  crown,  and  had  received  a  regu 
lar  commission,  constituting  him  Adalantado.  This  must  be 
matter  of  record,  and  he  insisted  loudly,  that  the  books  of  the 
department  should  be  consulted.  The  wordy  strife  at  length 
attracted  the  attention  of  an  old  gray-headed  clerk,  who  sat 
perched  on  a  high  stool,  at  a  high  desk,  with  iron-rimmed  spec 
tacles  on  the  top  of  a  thin,  pinched  nose,  copying  records  into  an 
enormous  folio.  He  had  wintered  and  summered  in  the  depart 
ment  for  a  great  part  of  a  century,  until  he  had  almost  grown  to 
be  a  piece  of  the  desk  at  which  he  sat ;  his  memory  was  a  mere 
index  of  official  facts  and  documents,  and  his  brain  was  little 
better  than  red  tape  and  parchment.  After  peering  down  for  a 
time  from  his  lofty  perch,  and  ascertaining  the  matter  in  contro 
versy,  he  put  his  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  descended.  He  re- 
16 


THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


membered  to  have  heard  something  from  his  predecessor  about 
an  expedition  of  the  kind  in  question,  but  then  it  had  sailed  dur 
ing  the  reign  of  Dorn  loam  II.,  and  he  had  been  dead  at  least  a 
hundred  years.  To  put  the  matter  beyond  dispute,  however,  the 
archives  of  the  Torre  do  Tombo,  that  sepulchre  of  old  Portu 
guese  documents,  were  diligently  searched,  and  a  record  was 
found  of  a  contract  between  the  crown  and  one  Fernando  do 
Ulmo,  for  the  discovery  of  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  and 
of  a  commission  secured  to  him  as  Adalantado  of  the  country  he 
might  discover. 

"  There  !  "  cried  Don  Fernando,  triumphantly,  "  there  you 
have  proof,  before  your  own  eyes,  of  what.  I  have  said.  I  am  the 
Fernando  de  Ulmo  specified  in  that  record.  I  have  discovered 
the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  and  am  entitled  to  be  Adalan 
tado,  according  to  contract." 

The  story  of  Don  Fernando  had  certainly,  what  is  pronounced 
the  best  of  historical  foundation,  documentary  evidence  ;  but 
when  a  man,  in  the  bloom  of  youth,  talked  of  events  that  had 
taken  place  above  a  century  previously,  as  having  happened  to 
himself,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  was  set  down  for  a  madman. 

The  old  clerk  looked  at  him  from  above  and  below  his  spec 
tacles,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  stroked  his  chin,  reascended  his 
lofty  stool,  took  the  pen  from  behind  his  ears,  and  resumed  his 
daily  and  eternal  task,  copying  records  into  the  fiftieth  volume 
of  a  series  of  gigantic  folios.  The  other  clerks  winked  at  each 
other  shrewdly,  and  dispersed  to  their  several  places,  and  poor 
Don  Fernando,  thus  left  to  himself,  flung  out  of  the  office,  almost 
driven  wild  by  these  repeated  perplexities. 

In  the  confusion  of  his  mind,  he  instinctively  repaired  to  the 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  363 


mansion  of  Alvarez,  but  it  was  barred  against  him.  To  break 
the  delusion  under  which  the  youth  apparently  labored,  and  to 
convince  him  that  the  Sefafina  about  whom  he  raved  was  really 
dead,  he  was  conducted  to  her  tomb.  There  she  lay,  a  stately 
matron,  cut  out  in  alabaster  ;  and  there  lay  her  husband  beside 
her  ;  a  portly  cavalier,  in  armor  ;  and  there  knelt,  on  each  side, 
the  effigies  of  a  numerous  progeny,  proving  that  she  had  been  a 
fruitful  vine.  Even  the  very  monument  gave  evidence  of  the 
lapse  of  time ;  the  hands  of  her  husband,  folded  as  if  in  prayer, 
had  lost  their  fingers,  and  the  face  of  the  once  lovely  Serafina 
was  without  a  nose. 

Don  Fernando  felt  a  transient  glow  of  indignation  at  behold 
ing  this  monumental  proof  of  the  inconstancy  of  his  mistress  ;  but 
who  could  expect  a  mistress  to  remain  constant  during  a  whole 
century  of  absence  ?  And  what  right  had  he  to  rail  about  con 
stancy,  after  what  had  passed  between  himself  and  the  alcayde's 
daughter  ?  The  unfortunate  cavalier  performed  one  pious  act 
of  tender  devotion  ;  he  had  the  alabaster  nose  of  Serafina  re 
stored  by  a  skilful  statuary,  and  then  tore  himself  from  the 
tomb. 

He  could  now  no  longer  doubt  the  fact  that,  somehow  or 
other,  he  had  skipped  over  a  whole  century,  during  the  night  he 
had  spent  at  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities  ;  and  he  was  now  as 
complete  a  stranger  in  his  native  city,  as  if  he  had  never  been 
there.  A  thousand  times  did  he  wish  himself  back  to  that  won 
derful  island,  with  its  antiquated  banquet  halls,  where  he  had 
been  so  courteously  received  ;  and  now  that  the  once  young  and 
beautiful  Serafina  was  nothing  but  a  great-grandmother  in  mar 
ble,  with  generations  of  descendants,  a  thousand  times  would  he 


364  THE  PHANTOM  ISLAND. 


recall  the  melting  black  eyes  of  the  alcayde:s  daughter,  who 
doubtless,  like  himself,  was  still  flourishing  in  fresh  juvenility, 
and  breathe  a  secret  wish  that  he  were  seated  by  her  side. 

He  would  at  once  have  set  on  foot  another  expedition,  at  his 
own  expense,  to  cruise  in  search  of  the  sainted  island,  but  his 
means  were  exhausted.  He  endeavored  to  rouse  others  to  the 
enterprise,  setting  forth  the  certainty  of  profitable  results,  of 
which  his  own  experience  furnished  such  unquestionable  proof. 
Alas  !  no  one  would  give  faith  to  his  tale ;  but  looked  upon  it  as 
the  feverish  dream  of  a  shipwrecked  man.  He  persisted  in  his 
efforts  ;  holding  forth  in  all  places  and  all  companies,  until  he 
became  an  object  of  jest  and  jeer  to  the  light-minded,  who  mis 
took  his  earnest  enthusiasm  for  a  proof  of  insanity ;  and  the 
very  children  in  the  streets  bantered  him  with  the  title  of  "  The 
Adalantado  of  the  Seven  Cities." 

Finding  all  efforts  in  vain,  in  his  native  city  of  Lisbon,  he 
took  shipping  for  the  Canaries,  as  being  nearer  the  latitude  of 
his  former  cruise,  and  inhabited  by  people  given  to  nautical  ad 
venture.  Here  he  found  ready  listeners  to  his  story ;  for  the 
old  pilots  and  mariners  of  those  parts  were  notorious  island- 
hunters,  and  devout  believers  in  all  the  wonders  of  the  seas. 
Indeed,  one  and  all  treated  his  adventure  as  a  common  occur 
rence,  and  turning  to  each  other,  with  a  sagacious  nod  of  the 
head,  observed,  "  He  has  been  at  the  Island  of  St.  Brandan." 

They  then  went  on  to  inform  him  of  that  great  marvel  and 
enigma  of  the  ocean  ;  of  its  repeated  appearance  to  the  inhabit 
ants  of  their  islands  ;  and  of  the  many  but  ineffectual  expeditions 
that  had  been  made  in  search  of  it.  They  took  him  to  a  prom 
ontory  of  the  island  of  Palma,  whence  the  shadowy  St.  Brandan 


THE  ADALANTADO  OF  THE  SEVEN  CITIES.  865 


had  oftenest  been  descried,  and  they  pointed  out  the  very  tract 
in  the  west  where  its  mountains  had  been  seen. 

Don  Fernando  listened  with  rapt  attention.  He  had  no  lon 
ger  a  doubt  that  this  mysterious  and  fugacious  island  must  be 
the  same  with  that  of  the  Seven  Cities  ;  and  that  some  super 
natural  influence  connected  with  it  had  operated  upon  himself, 
and  made  the  events  of  a  night  occupy  the  space  of  a  century. 

He  endeavored,  but  in  vain,  to  rouse  the  islanders  to  another 
attempt  at  discovery ;  they  had  given  up  the  phantom  island  as 
indeed  inaccessible.  Fernando,  however,  was  not  to  be  discour 
aged.  The  idea  wore  itself  deeper  and  deeper  in  his  mind,  until 
it  .became  the  engrossing  subject  of  his  thoughts  and  object  of 
his  being.  Every  morning  he  would  repair  to  the  promontory 
of  Palma,  and  sit  there  throughout  the  livelong  day,  in  hopes 
of  seeing  the  fairy  mountains  of  St.  Brandan  peering  above  the 
horizon  ;  every  evening  he  returned  to  his  home,  a  disappointed 
man,  but  ready  to  resume  his  post  on  the  following  morning. 

His  assiduity  was  all  in  vain.  He  grew  gray  in  his  ineffect 
ual  attempt :  and  was  at  length  found  dead  at  his  post.  His 
grave  is  still  shown  in  the  island  of  Palma,  and  a  cross  is  erected 
on  the  spot  where  he  used  to  sit  and  look  out  upon  the  sea,  in 
hopes  of  the  reappearance  of  the  phantom  island. 

NOTE. — For  various  particulars  concerning  the  Island  of  St. 
Brandan  and  the  Island  of  the  Seven  Cities,  those  ancient 
problems  of  the  ocean,  the  curious  reader  is  referred  to  articles 
under  those  heads  in  the  Appendix  to  the  Life  of  Columbus. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA.     ^ 

I  HAVE  already  given  to  the  world  some  anecdotes  of  a  summer's 
residence  in  the  old  Moorish  palace  of  the  Alhambra.  It  was  a 
dreamy  sojourn,  during  which  I  lived,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of 
an  Arabian  tale,  and  shut  my  eyes  as  much  as  possible  to  every 
thing  that  should  call  me  back  to  every  day  life.  If  there  is 
any  country  in  Europe  where  one  can  do  so,  it  is  among  these 
magnificent  but  semi-barbaric  ruins  of  poor,  wild,  legendary,  ro 
mantic  Spain.  In  the  silent  and  deserted  halls  of  the  Alham 
bra,  surrounded  with  the  insignia  of  regal  sway,  and  the  vivid, 
though  dilapidated  traces  of  Oriental  luxury,  I  was  in  the  strong 
hold  of  Moorish  story,  where  every  thing  spoke  of  the  palmy 
days  of  Granada  when  under  the  dominion  of  the  crescent. 

Much  of  the  literature  of  Spain  turns  upon  the  wars  of  the 
Moors  and  Christians,  and  consists  of  traditional  ballads  and 
tales  or  romances,  about  the  "  buenas  andanzas,"  and  "  grandes 
hechos,"  the  "  lucky  adventures,"  and  "  great  exploits "  of  the 
warriors  of  yore.  It  is  worthy  of  remark,  that  many  of  these 
lays  which  sing  of  prowess  and  magnanimity  in  war,  and  tender 
ness  and  fidelity  in  love,  relate  as  well  to  Moorish  as  to  Spanish 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA.  367 


cavaliers.  The  lapse  of  peaceful  centuries  has  extinguished  the 
rancor  of  ancient  hostility;  and  the  warriors  of  Granada,  once 
the  objects  of  bigot  detestation,  are  now  often  held  up  by  Span 
ish  poets  as  mirrors  of  chivalric  virtue. 

None  have  been  the  theme  of  higher  eulogy  than  the  illus 
trious  line  of  the  Abencerrages,  who  in  the  proud  days  of  Mos 
lem  domination  were  the  soul  of  every  thing  noble  and  chival 
ric.  The  veterans  of  the  family  sat  in  the  royal  council,  and 
were  foremost  in  devising  heroic  enterprises  to  carry  dismay 
into  the  Christian  territories ;  and  what  the  veterans  devised  the 
young  men  of  the  name  were  foremost  to  execute.  In  all  ad 
ventures,  enterprises,  and  hair-breadth  hazards,  the  Abencerrages 
were  sure  to  win  the  brightest  laurels.  In  the  tilt  and  tourney, 
in  the  riding  at  the  ring,  the  daring  bull  fight,  and  all  other  rec 
reations  which  bore  an  affinity  to  war,  the  Abencerrages  carried 
off  the  palm.  None  equalled  them  for  splendor  of  array,  for 
noble  bearing,  and  glorious  horsemanship.  Their  open-handed 
munificence  made  them  the  idols  of  the  people ;  their  magna 
nimity  and  perfect  faith  gained  the  admiration  of  the  high* 
minded.  Never  did  they  decry  the  merits  of  a  rival,  nor  betray 
the  confidings  of  a  friend ;  and  the  word  of  an  Abencerrage  wag 
a  guarantee  never  to  be  doubted. 

And  then  their  devotion  to  the  fair  !  Neyer  did  Moorish 
beauty  consider  the  fame  of  her  charms  established,  until  she 
had  an  Abencerrage  for  a  lover ;  and  never  did  an  Abencerrage 
prove  recreant  to  his  vows.  Lovely  Granada  !  City  of  delights  ! 
Who  ever  bore  the  favors  of  thy  dames  more  proudly  on  their 
casques,  or  championed  them  more  gallantly  in  the  chivalrous 
tilts  of  the  Yiyarambla  ?  Or  who  ever  made  thy  moon-lit  bal* 


368  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


conies,  thy  gardens  of  myrtles  and  roses,  of  oranges,  citrons,  and 
pomegranates,  respond  to  more  tender  serenades  ? 

Such  were  the  fancies  I  used  to  conjure  up  as  I  sat  in  the 
beautiful  hall. of  the  Abencerrages,  celebrated  in  the  tragic  story 
of  that  devoted  race,  where  thirty-six  of  its  bravest  cavaliers 
were  treacherously  sacrificed  to  appease  the  jealous  fears  of  a 
tyrant.  The  fountain  which  once  ran  red  with  their  blood, 
throws  up  a  sparkling  jet,  and  spreads  a  dewy  freshness  through 
the  hall ;  but  a  deep  stain  on  the  marble  pavement  is  still  pointed 
out  as  a  sanguinary  record  of  the  massacre.  The  truth  of  the 
record  has  been  called  in  question,  but  I  regarded  it  with  the 
same  determined  faith  with  which  I  contemplated  the  stains  of 
Rizzio's  blood  on  the  floor  of  the  palace  of  Holyrood.  I  thank 
no  one  for  enlightening  my  credulity  on  points  of  poetical  belief. 
It  is  like  robbing  the  statue  of  Memnon  of  its  mysterious  music. 
Dispel  historical  illusions,  and  there  is  an  end  to  half  the  charms 
of  traveling.  "  V": 

The  hall  of  the  Abencerrages  is  connected  moreover  with  the 
recollection  of  one  of  the  sweetest  evenings  and  sweetest  scenes 
I  ever  enjoyed  in  Spain.  It  was  a  beautiful  summer  evening, 
when  the  moon  shone  down  into  the  Court  of  Lions,  lighting  up 
its  sparkling  fountain.  I  was  seated  with  a  few  companions 
in  the  hall  in  question,  listening  to  those  traditional  ballads 
and  romances  in  which  the  Spaniards  delight.  They  were  sung 
to  the  accompaniment  of  the  guitar,  by  one  of  the  most  gifted 
and  fascinating  beings  that  I  ever  met  with  even  among  the  fas 
cinating  daughters  of  Spain.  She  was  young  and  beautiful ;  and 
light  and  ethereal ;  full  of  fire,  and  spirit,  and  pure  enthusiasm. 
She  wore  the  fanciful  Andalusian  dress ;  touched  the  guitar  with 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA.  369 


speaking  eloquence  ;  improvised  with  wonderful  facility  ;  and, 
as  she  became  excited  by  her  theme,  or  by  the  rapt  attention  of 
her  auditors,  would  pour  forth,  in  the  richest  and  most  melodious 
strains,  a  succession  of  couplets,  full  of  striking  description,  or 
stirring  narrative,  and  composed,  as  I  was  assured,  at  the  mo 
ment.  Most  of  these  were  suggested  by  the  place,  and  related 
to  the  ancient  glories  of  Granada,  and  the  prowess  of  her  chiv 
alry.  The  Abencerrages  were  her  favorite  heroes  •  she  felt  a 
woman's  admiration  of  their  gallant  courtesy,  and  high-souled 
honor  ;  and  it  was  touching  and  inspiring  to  hear  the  praises  of 
that  generous  but  devoted  race,  chanted  in  this  fated  ball  of  their 
calamity,  by  the  lips  of  Spanish  beauty. 

Among  the  subjects  of  which  she  treated,  was  a  tale  of  Mos 
lem  honor,  and  old-fashioned  Spanish  courtesy,  which  made  a 
strong  impression  on  me.  She  disclaimed  all  merit  of  inven 
tion,  however,  and  said  she  had  merely  dilated  into  verse  a  popu 
lar  tradition ;  and,  indeed,  I  have  since  found  the  nlam  facts  in 
serted  at  the  end  of  Conde's  History  of  the  Domination  of  the 
Arabs,  and  the  story  itself  embodied  in  the  form  of  an  episode 
in  the  Diana  of  Montemayor.  From  these  sources  I  have  drawn 
it  forth,  and  endeavored  to  shape  it  according  to  my  recollection 
of  the  version  of  the  beautiful  minstrel ;  but  alas  !  what  can 
supply  the  want  of  that  voice,  that  look,  that  form,  that  action, 
which  gave  magical  effect  to  her  chant,  and  held  every  one  rapt 
in  breathless  admiration  !  Should  this  mere  travestie  of  her  in 
spired  numbers  ever  meet  her  eye,  in  her  stately  abode  at  Gra 
nada,  may  it  meet  with  that  indulgence  which  belongs  to  her  be 
nignant  nature.  Happy  should  I  be,  if  it  could  awaken  in  her 
bosom  one  kind  recollection  of  the  stranger,  for  whose  gratifica- 
16*  V 


370  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


tion  she  did  not  think  it  beneath  her  to  exert  those  fascinating 
powers,  in  the  moon-lit  halls  of  the  Alhambra. 


THE    ABENCERRAGE. 

On  the  summit  of  a  craggy  hill,  a  spur  of  the  mountains  of 
Honda,  stands  the  castle  of  Allora ;  now  a  mere  ruin,  infested 
by  bats  and  owlets  ;  but  in  old  times,  a  strong  border-hold  which 
kept  watch  upon  the  warlike  kingdom  of  Granada,  and  held  the 
Moors  in  check.  It  was  a  post  always  confided  to  some  well-tried 
commander,  and  at  the  time  of  which  we  treat,  was  held  by 
Roderigo  de  Narvaez,  alcayde,  or  military  governor  of  Anti- 
quera.  It  was  a  frontier  post  of  his  command ;  but  he  passed 
most  of  his  time  there,  because  its  situation  on  the  borders  gave 
frequent  opportunity  for  those  adventurous  exploits  in  which  the 
Spanish  chivalry  delighted. 

He  was  a  veteran,  famed  among  both  Moors  and  Christians, 
not  only  for  deeds  of  arms,  but  for  that  magnanimous  courtesy 
which  should  ever  be  entwined  with  the  stern  virtues  of  the 
soldier. 

His  garrison  consisted  of  fifty  chosen  men,  well  appointed  and 
well-mounted,  with  which  he  maintained  such  vigilant  watch  that 
nothing  could  escape  his  eye.  While  some  remained  on  guard  in  the 
castle,  he  would  sally  forth  with  others,  prowling  about  the  high 
ways,  the  paths  and  defiles  of  the  mountains  by  day  and  night, 
and  now  and  then  making  a  daring  foray  into  the  very  Vega  of 
Granada. 


THE  ABENCERRAGE.  371 


On  a  fair  and  beautiful  night  in  summer,  when  the  moon  was 
in  the  full,  and  the  freshness  of  the  evening  breeze  had  tempered 
the  heat  of  day,  the  alcayde,  with  nine  of  his  cavaliers,  was  going 
the  rounds  of  the  mountains  in  quest  of  adventures.  They  rode 
silently  and  cautiously,  for  it  was  a  night  to  tempt  others  abroad, 
and  they  might  be  overheard  by  Moorish  scout  or  traveller ;  they 
kept  along  ravines  and  hollow  ways,  moreover,  lest  they  should 
be  betrayed  by  the  glittering  of  the  moon  upon  their  armor. 
Coming  to  a  fork  in  the  road,  the  alcayde  ordered  five  of  his 
cavaliers  to  take  one  of  the  branches,  while  he,  with  the  remaining 
four,  would  take  the  other.  Should  either  party  be  in  danger, 
the  blast  of  a  horn  was  to  be  the  signal  for  succor.  The  party 
of  five  had  not  proceeded  far,  when,  in  passing  through  a  defile, 
they  heard  the  voice  of  a  man  singing.  Concealing  themselves 
among  trees,  they  awaited  his  approach.  The  moon,  which  left 
the  grove  in  shadow,  shone  full  upon  his  person,  as  he  slowly  ad 
vanced,  mounted  on  a  dapple  gray  steed  of  powerful  frame  and 
generous  spirit,  and  magnificently  caparisoned.  He  was  a  Moor 
ish  cavalier  of  noble  demeanor  and  graceful  carriage,  arrayed  in  a 
marlota,  or  tunic,  and  an  albornoz  of  crimson  damask  fringed 
with  gold.  His  Tunisian  turban,  of  many  folds,  was  of  striped 
silk  and  cotton,  bordered  with  a  golden  fringe  ;  at  his  girdle  hung 
a  Damascus  scimitar,  with  loops  and  tassels  of  silk  and  gold.  On 
his  left  arm  he  bore  an  ample  target,  and  his  right  hand  grasped 
a  long  double-pointed  lance.  Apparently  dreaming  of  no  danger, 
he  sat  negligently  on  his  steed,  gazing  on  the  moon,  and  singing, 
with  a  sweet  and  manly  voice,  a  Moorish  love  ditty. 

Just  opposite  the  grove  where  the  cavaliers  were  concealed, 
the  horse  turned  aside  to  drink  at  a  small  fountain  in  a  rock  be- 


872  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


side  the  road.  His  rider  threw  the  reins  on  his  neck  to  let  him 
drink  at  his  ease,  and  continued  his  song. 

The  cavaliers  whispered  with  each  other.  Charmed  with  the 
gallant  and  gentle  appearance  of  the  Moor,  they  determined  not  to 
harm,  but  capture  him ;  an  easy  task,  as  they  supposed,  in  his 
negligent  mood.  Rushing  forth,  therefore,  they  thought  to  sur 
round,  and  take  him  by  surprise.  Never  were  men  more  mis 
taken.  To  gather  up  his  reins,  wheel  round  his  steed,  brace  his 
buckler,  and  couch  his  lance,  was  the  work  of  an  instant,  and  there 
he  sat,  fixed  like  a  castle  in  his  saddle. 

The  cavaliers  checked  their  steeds,  and  reconnoitred  him 
warily,  loth  to  come  to  an  encounter  which  must  prove  fatal  to 
him. 

The  Moor  now  held  a  parley.  "If  ye  be  true  knights,  and 
seek  for  honorable  fame,  come  on  singly,  and  I  will  meet  each  in 
succession ;  if  ye  be  mere  lurkers  of  the  road,  intent  on  spoil, 
come  all  at  once,  and  do  your  worst." 

The  cavaliers  communed  together  for  a  moment,  when  one 
parting  from  the  others,  advanced.  "  Although  no  law  of  chivalry," 
said  he,  "  obliges  us  to  risk  the  loss  of  a  prize,  when  fairly  in  our 
power,  yet  we  willingly  grant  as  a  courtesy  what  we  might  refuse 
as  a  right.  Valiant  Moor,  defend  thyself!" 

So  saying,  he  wheeled,  took  proper  distance,  couched  his  lance 
and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse,  made  at  the  stranger.  The  latter 
met  him  in  mid  career,  transpierced  him  with  his  lance,  and  threw 
him  from  his  saddle.  A  second  and  a  third  succeeded,  but  were 
unhorsed  with  equal  facility,  and  thrown  to  the  earth,  severely 
wounded.  The  remaining  two,  seeing  their  comrades  thus  rough 
ly  treated,  forgot  all  compact  of  courtesy,  and  charged  both  at 


THE  ABENCERRAGE.  373 


once  upon  the  Moor.  He  parried  the  thrust  of  one,  but  was 
wounded  by  the  other  in  the  thigh,  and  in  the  shock  and  confusion 
dropped  his  lance.  Thus  disarmed,  and  closely  pressed,  he  pre 
tended  to  fly,  and  was  hotly  pursued.  Having  drawn  the  two 
cavaliers  some  distance  from  the  spot,  he  wheeled  short  about, 
with  one  of  those  dexterous  movements  for  which  the  Moorish 
horsemen  were  renowned;  passed  swiftly  between  them,  swung 
himself  down  from  his  saddle,  so  as  to  catch  up  his  lance,  then, 
lightly  replacing  himself,  turned  to  renew  the  combat. 

Seeing  him  thus  fresh  for  the  encounter,  as  if  just  issued 
from  his  tent,  one  of  the  cavaliers  put  his  lips  to  his  horn,  and 
blew  a  blast,  that  soon  brought  the  Alcayde  and  his  four  compan 
ions  to  the  spot. 

Narvaez,  seeing  three  of  his  cavaliers  extended  on  the  earth, 

?* 

and  two  others  hotly  engaged  with  the  Moor,  was  struck  with  ad 
miration,  and  coveted  a  contest  with  so  accomplished  a  warrior. 
Interfering  in  the  fight,  he  called  upon  his  followers  to  desist,  and 
with  courteous  words  invited  the  Moor  to  a  more  equal  combat. 
The  challenge  was  readily  accepted.  For  some  time  the  contest  was 
doubtful,  and  the  Alcayde  had  need  of  all  his  skill  and  strength 
to  ward  off"  the  blows  of  his  antagonist.  The  Moor,  however,  ex 
hausted  by  previous  fighting,  and  by  loss  of  blood,  no  longer  sat 
his  horse  firmly,  nor  managed  him  with  his  wonted  skill.  Collect 
ing  all  his  strength  for  a  last  assault,  he  rose  in  his  stirrups,  and 
made  a  violent  thrust  with  his  lance ;  the  Alcayde  received  it  upon 
his  shield,  and  at  the  same  time  wounded  the  Moor  in  the  right  arm ; 
then  closing,  in  the  shock,  grasped  him  in  his  arms,  dragged  him 
from  his  saddle,  and  fell  with  him  to  the  earth :  when  putting  his 
knee  upon  his  breast,  and  his  dagger  to  his  throat,  "  Cavalier,"  ex- 


374  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


claimed  he,  "  render  thyself  my  prisoner,  for  thy  life  is  in  my 
hands !  " 

"  Kill  me,  rather,"  replied  the  Moor,  "  for  death  would  be  less 
grievous  than  loss  of  liberty." 

The  Alcayde,  however,  with  the  clemency  of  the  truly  brave, 
assisted  him  to  rise,  ministered  to  his  wounds  with  his  own  hands, 
and  had  him  conveyed  with  great  care  to  the  castle  of  Allora. 
His  wounds  in  a  few  days  were  nearly  cured ;  but  the  deepest  had 
been  inflicted  on  his  spirit.  He  was  constantly  buried  in  a  pro 
found  melancholy. 

The  Alcayde,  who  had  conceived  a  great  regard  for  him,  treat 
ed  him  more  as  a  friend  than  a  captive,  and  tried  in  every  way  to 
cheer  him,  but  in  vain ;  he  was  always  sad  and  moody,  and,  when 
on  the  battlements  of  the  castle,  would  keep  his  eyes  turned  to  the 
south,  with  a  fixed  and  wistful  gaze. 

"  How  is  this  ?  "  exclaimed  the  Alcayde,  reproachfully,  "  that 
you,  who  were  so  hardy  and  fearless  in  the  field,  should  lose  all 
spirit  when  a  captive.  If  any  secret  grief  preys  on  your  heart, 
confide  it  to  me,  as  to  a  friend,  and  I  promise  on  the  faith  of  a 
cavalier,  that  you  shall  have  no  cause  to  repent  the  disclosure."1 

The  Moorish  knight  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Alcayde.  "  Noble 
cavalier,"  said  he,  "  that  I  am  cast  down  in  spirit,  is  not  from  my 
wounds,  which  are  slight,  nor  from -my  captivity,  for  your  kind 
ness  has  robbed  it  of  all  gloom ;  nor  from  my  defeat,  for  to  be 
conquered  by  so  accomplished  and  renowned  a  cavalier,  is  no  dis 
grace.  But  to  explain  the  cause  of  my  grief,  it  is  necessary  to 
give  some  particulars  of  my  story ;  and  this  I  am  moved  to  do, 
by  the  sympathy  you  have  manifested  toward  me,  and  the  mag 
nanimity  that  shines  through  all  your  actions. 


THE  ABENCERRAGE.  375 


"  Know,  then,  that  my  name  is  Abendaraez,  and  that  I  am 
of  the  noble  but  unfortunate  line  of  the  Abencerrages.  You 
have  doubtless  heard  of  the  destruction  that  fell  upon  our  race. 
Charged  with  treasonable  designs,  of  which  they  were  entirely  in 
nocent,  many  of  them  were  beheaded,  the  rest  banished;  so  that 
not  an  Abencerrage  was  permitted  to  remain  in  Granada,  excepting 
my  father  and  my  uncle,  whose  innocence  was  proved,  even  to  the 
satisfaction  of  their  persecutors.  It  was  decreed,  however,  that, 
should  they  have  children,  the  sons  should  be  educated  at  a  dis 
tance  from  Granada,  and  the  daughters  should  be  married  out  of 
the  kingdom. 

"  Conformably  to  this  decree,  I  was  sent,  while  yet  an  infant, 
to  be  reared  in  the  fortress  of  Cartama,  the  Alcayde  of  which  was 
an  ancient  friend  of  my  father.  He  had  no  children,  and  received 
me  into  his  family  as  his  own  child,  treating  me  with  the  kind 
ness  and  affection  of  a  father  ;  and  I  grew  up  in  the  belief  that  he 
really  was  such.  A  few  years  afterward,  his  wife  gave  birth  to  a 
daughter,  but  his  tenderness  toward  me  continued  undiminished. 
I  thus  grew  up  with  Xarisa,  for  so  the  infant  daughter  of  the 
Alcayde  was  called,  as  her  own  brother.  I  beheld  her  charms 
unfolding,  as  it  were,  leaf  by  leaf,  like  the  morning  rose,  each 
moment  disclosing  fresh  sweetness  and  beauty,  and  thought  the 
growing  passion  which  I  felt  for  her  was  mere  fraternal  affection. 

"  At  length  one  day  I  accidentally  overheard  a  conversation 
between  the  Alcayde  and  his  confidential  domestic,  of  "which  I 
found  myself  the  subject. 

"  In  this  I  learnt  the  secret  of  my  real  parentage,  which  the  Al 
cayde  had  withheld  from  me  as  long  as  possible,  through  reluc 
tance  to  inform  me  of  my  being  of  a  proscribed  and  unlucky  race. 


876  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


It  was  time  now,  he  thought,  to  apprise  me  of  the  truth,  that  I 
might  adopt  a  career  in  life. 

"  I  retired  without  letting  it  be  perceived  that  I  had  over 
heard- the  conversation.  The  intelligence  it  conveyed,  would 
have  overwhelmed  me  at  an  earlier  period  ;  but  now  the  intima 
tion  that  Xarisa  was  not  my  sister,  operated  like  magic.  In  an 
instant  the  brotherly  affection  with  which  my  heart  at  times  had 
throbbed  almost  to  excess,  was  transformed  into  ardent  love. 

"  I  sought  Xarisa  in  the  garden,  where  I  found  her  in  a  bower 
of  jessamines,  arranging  her  beautiful  hair  in  the  mirror  of  a 
crystal  fountain.  I  ran  to  her  with  open  arms,  and  was  received 
with  a  sister's  embraces ;  upbraiding  me  for  leaving  her  so  long 
alone. 

"  We  seated  ourselves  by  the  fountain,  and  I  hastened  to  reveal 
the  secret  conversation  I  had  overheard. 

"  '  Alas  !  "  cried  she,  '  then  our  happiness  is  at  an  end  ! ' 

"  *  How  ! '  cried  I,  *  wilt  thou  cease  to  love  me  because  I  am 
not  thy  brother  ?  ' 

"  'Alas,  not'  replied  she,  gently  withdrawing  from  my  em 
brace,  '  but  when  it  is  once  made  known  we  are  not  brother  and 
sister,  we  shall  no  longer  be  permitted  to  be  thus  always  to 
gether.' 

"  In  fact,  from  that  moment  our  intercourse  took  a  new  cha 
racter.  We  met  often  at  the  fountain  among  the  jessamines,  but 
Xarisa  no  longer  advanced  with  open  arms  to  meet  me.  She 
became  reserved  and  silent,  and  would  blush,  and  cast  down  her 
eyes,  when  I  seated  myself  beside  her.  My  heart  became  a  prey 
to  the  thousand  doubts  and  fears  that  ever  attend  upon  true  love. 
"Restless  and  uneasy,  I  looked  back  with  regret  to  our  unreserved 


THE  ABENCERRAGE.  377 


intercourse  when  we  supposed  ourselves  brother  and  sister ;  yet 
I  would  not  have  had  the  relationship  true,  for  the  world. 

"  While  matters  were  in  this  state  between  us,  an  order  came 
from  the  King  of  Granada  for  the  Alcayde  to  take  command  of 
the  fortress  of  Coyn,  on  the  Christian  frontier.  He  prepared  to 
remove,  with  all  his  family,  but  signified  that  I  should  remain  at 
Cartama.  I  declared  that  I  could  not  be  parted  from  Xarisa. 
'  That  is  the  very  cause,'  said  he,  '  why  I  leave  thee  behind.  It 
is  time,  Abendaraez,  thou  shouldst  know  the  secret  of  thy  birth. 
Thou  art  no  son  of  mine,  neither  is  Xarisa  thy  sister.'  *  I  know 
it  all,'  exclaimed  I,  *  and  I  love  her  with  tenfold  the  affection  of  a 
brother.  You  have  brought  us  up  together ;  you  have  made  us 
necessary  to  each  other's  happiness ;  our  hearts  have  entwined 
themselves  with  our  growth  ;  do  not  now  tear  them  asunder.  Fill 
up  the  measure  of  your  kindness  ;  be  indeed  a  father  to  me,  by 
giving  me  Xarisa  for  my  wife.' 

"  The  brow  of  the  Alcayde  darkened  as  I  spoke.  c  Have  I 
then  been  deceived  ? '  said  he.  '  Have  those  nurtured  in  my  very 
bosom,  been  conspiring  against  me  ?  Is  this  your  return  for  my 
paternal  tenderness  ? — to  beguile  the  affections  of  my  child,  and 
teach  her  to  deceive  her  father  ?  It  would  have  been  cause  enough 
to  refuse  thee  the  hand  of  my  daughter,  that  thou  wert  of  a  pro 
scribed  race,  who  can  never  approach  the  walls  of  Granada ;  this, 
however,  I  might  have  passed  over;  but  never  will  I  give  my 
daughter  to  a  man  who  has  endeavored  to  win  her  from  me  by  de 
ception.' 

"  All  my  attempts  to  vindicate  myself  and  Xarisa  were  una 
vailing.  I  retired  in  anguish  from  his  presence,  and  seeking  Xa 
risa,  told  her  of  this  blow,  which  was  worse  than  death  to  me. 


378  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


1  Xarisa,'  said  T,  <  we  part  for  ever  !  I  shall  never  see  thee  more ! 
Thy  father  will  guard  thee  rigidly.  Thy  beauty  and  his  wealth 
will  soon  attract  some  happier  rival,  and  I  shall  be  forgotten ! ' 

"  Xarisa  reproached  my  want  of  faith,  and  promised  eternal 
constancy.  I  still  doubted  and  desponded,  until,  moved  by  my 
anguish  and  despair,  she  agreed  to  a  secret  union.  Our  espousals 
made,  we  parted,  with  a  promise  on  her  part  to  send  me  word 
from  Coyn,  should  her  father  absent  himself  from  the  fortress. 
The  very  day  after  our  secret  nuptials,  I  beheld  the  whole  train 
of  the  Alcayde  depart  from  Cartama,  nor  would  he  admit  me  to 
his  presence,  nor  permit  me  to  bid  farewell  to  Xarisa.  I  remained 
at  Cartama,  somewhat  pacified  in  spirit  by  our  secret  bond  of 
union  5  but  every  thing  around  fed  my  passion,  and  reminded  me 
of  Xarisa.  I  saw  the  window  at  which  I  had  so  often  beheld  her. 
I  wandered  through  the  apartment  she  had  inhabited ;  the  cham 
ber  in  which  she  had  slept.  I  visited  the  bower  of  jessamines, 
and  lingered  beside  the  fountain  in  which  she  had  delighted. 
Every  thing  recalled  her  to  my  imagination,  and  filled  my  heart 
with  melancholy. 

"  At  length,  a  confidential  servant  arrived  with  a  letter  from 
her,  informing  me,  that  her  father  was  to  depart  that  day  for 
Granada,  on  a  short  absence,  inviting  me  to  hasten  to  Coyn,  de 
scribing  a  secret  portal  at  which  I  should  apply,  and  the  signal 
by  which  I  would  obtain  admittance. 

"  If  ever  you  have  loved,  most  valiant  Alcayde,  you  may 
judge  of  my  trransport.  That  very  night  I  arrayed  myself  in 
gallant  attire,  to  pay  due  honor  to  my  bride ;  and  arming  myself 
against  any  casual  attack,  issued  forth  privately  from  Cartama. 
You  know  the  rest,  and  by  what  sad  fortune  of  war  I  find  myself, 


THE  ABENCERRAGE.  379 


instead  of  a  happy  bridegroom  in  the  nuptial  bower  of  Coyn,  van- 
quished,  wounded,  and  a  prisoner  within  the  walls  of  Allora.  The 
term  of  absence  of  the  father  of  Xarisa  is  nearly  expired.  With 
in  three  days  he  will  return  to  Coyn,  and  our  meeting  will  no 
longer  be  possible.  Judge,  then,  whether  I  grieve  without  cause, 
and  whether  I  may  not  well  be  excused  for  showing  impatience 
under  confinement." 

Don  Rodrigo  was  greatly  moved  by  this  recital ;  for,  though 
more  used  to  rugged  war  than  scenes  of  amorous  softness,  he  was 
of  a  kind  and  generous  nature. 

"  Abendaraez,"  said  he,  "  I  did  not  seek  thy  confidence  to  gra 
tify  an  idle  curiosity.  It  grieves  me  much  that  the  good  fortune 
which  delivered  thee  into  my  hands,  should  have  marred  so  fair 
an  enterprise.  Give  me  thy  faith,  as  a  true  knight,  to  return  pri 
soner  to  my  castle,  within  three  days,  and  I  will  grant  thee  per 
mission  to  accomplish  thy  nuptials." 

The  Abencerrage,  in  a  transport  of  gratitude,  would  have 
thrown  himself  at  his  feet,  but  the  Alcayde  prevented  him.  Call 
ing  in  his  cavaliers,  he  took  Abendaraez  by  the  right  hand, 
in  their  presence,  exclaiming  solemnly,  "  You  promise,  on  the 
faith  of  a  cavalier,  to  return  to  my  castle  of  Allora  within  three 
days,  and  render  yourself  my  prisoner  ?  "  And  the  Abencerrage 
said,  "  I  promise." 

Then  said  the  Alcayde,  "  Go !  and  may  good  fortune  attend 
you.  If  you  require  any  safeguard,  I  and  my  cavaliers  are 
ready  to  be  your  companions." 

The  Abencerrage  kissed  the  hand  of  the  Alcayde,  in  grateful 
acknowledgment.  "  Give  me,"  said  he,  "  my  own  armor,  and 
my  steed,  and  I  require  no  guard.  It  is  not  likely  that  I  shall 
again  meet  with  so  valorous  a  foe." 


380  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


The  shades  of  night  had  fallen,  when  the  tramp  of  the  dapple 
gray  steed  resounded  over  the  drawbridge,  and  immediately  after 
wards,  the  light  clatter  of  hoofs  along  the  road  bespoke  the  fleet- 
ness  with  which  the  youthful  lover  hastened  to  his  bride.  It  was 
deep  night  when  the  Moor  arrived  at  the  castle  of  Coyn.  He 
silently  and  cautiously  walked  his  panting  steed  under  its  dark 
walls,  and  having  nearly  passed  round  them,  came  to  the  portal 
denoted  by  Xarisa.  He  paused,  looked  round  to  see  that  he  was 
not  observed,  and  knocked  three  times  with  the  butt  of  his  lance. 
In  a  little  while  the  portal  was  timidly  unclosed  by  the  duenna  of 
Xarisa.  "  Alas !  Senor,"  said  she,  "  what  has  detained  you  thus 
long  ?  Every  night  have  I  watched  for  you ;  and  my  lady  is  sick 
at  heart  with  doubt  and  anxiety." 

The  Abencerrage  hung  his  lance,  and  shield,  and  scimitar 
against  the  wall,  and  followed  the  duenna,  with  silent  steps,  up  a 
winding  staircase,  to  the  apartment  of  Xarisa.  Yain  would  be 
the  attempt  to  describe  the  raptures  of  that  meeting.  Time  flew 
too  swiftly,  and  the  Abencerrage  had  nearly  forgotten,  until  too 
late,  his  promise  to  return  a  prisoner  to  the  Alcayde  of  Allora. 
The  recollection  of  it  came  to  him  with  a  pang,  and  woke  him 
from  his  dream  of  bliss.  Xarisa  saw  his  altered  looks,  and  heard 
with  alarm  his  stifled  sighs  ;  but  her  countenance  brightened  when 
she  heard  the  cause.  "  Let  not  thy  spirit  be  cast  down,"  said 
she,  throwing  her  white  arms  around  him.  "I  have  the  keys  of 
my  father's  treasures ;  send  ransom  more  than  enough  to  satisfy 
the  Christian,  and  remain  with  me." 

"  No,"  said  Abendaraez,  "  I  have  given  my  word  to  return  in 
person,  and  like  a  true  knight,  must  fulfil  my  promise.  After 
that,  fortune  must  do  with  me  as  it  pleases." 


THE  ABENCERRAGE.  -  381 


"  Then,"  said  Xarisa,  "  I  will  accompany  thee.  Never  slialt 
thou  return  a  prisoner,  and  I  remain  at  liberty." 

The  Abencerrage  was  transported  with  joy  at  this  new  proof 
of  devotion  in  his  beautiful  bride.  All  preparations  were  speed 
ily  made  for  their  departure.  Xarisa  mounted  behind  the  Moor, 
on  his  powerful  steed  ;  they  left  the  castle  walls  before  day 
break,  nor  did  they  pause,  until  they  arrived  at  the  gate  of  the 
castle  of  Allora. 

Alighting  in  the  court,  the  Abencerrage  supported  the  steps 
of  his  trembling  bride,  who  remained  closely  veiled,  into  the 
presence  of  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez.  "  Behold,  valiant  Alcayde  ! " 
said  he,  "  the  way  in  which  an  Abencerrage  keeps  his  word.  I 
promised  to  return  to  thee  a  prisoner,  but  I  deliver  two  captives 
into  thy  power.  Behold  Xarisa,  and  judge  whether  I  grieved 
without  reason,  over  the  loss  of  such  a  treasure.  Receive  us  as 
thine  own,  for  I  confide  my  life  and  her  honor  to  thy  hands." 

The  Alcayde  was  lost  in  admiration  of  the  beauty  of  the' 
lady,  and  the  noble  spirit  of  the  Moor.  "  I  know  not,"  said  he, 
"  which  of  you  surpasses  the  other  ;  but  I  know  that  my  castle  is 
graced  and  honored  by  your  presence.  Consider  it  your  own, 
while  you  deign  to  reside  with  me." 

For  several  days,  the  lovers  remained  at  Allora,  happy  in 
each  other's  love,  and  in  the  friendship  of  the  Alcayde.  The 
latter  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Moorish  king  of  Granada,  relating 
the  whole  event,  extolling  the  valor  and  good  faith  of  the  Aben 
cerrage,  and  craving  for  him  the  royal  countenance. 

The  king  was  moved  by  the  story,  and  pleased  with  an  oppor 
tunity  of  showing  attention  to  the  wishes  of  a  gallant  and  chival 
rous  enemy ;  for  though  he  had  often  suffered  from  the  prowess 


382  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  ALHAMBRA. 


of  Don  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez,  he  admired  his  heroic  character. 
Calling  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn  into  his  presence,  he  gave  him  the 
letter  to  read.  The  Alcayde  turned  pale,  and  trembled  with 
rage,  on  the  perusal.  "  Restrain  thine  anger,"  said  the  king ; 
"  there  is  nothing  that  the  Alcayde  of  Allora  could  ask,  that  I 
would  not  grant,  if  in  my  power.  Go  thou  to  Allora ;  pardon 
thy  children  ;  take  them  to  thy  home.  I  receive  this  Abencer 
rage  into  my  favor,  and  it  will  be  my  delight  to  heap  benefits 
upon  you  all." 

The  kindling  ire  of  the  Alcayde  was  suddenly  appeased.  He 
hastened  to  Allora ;  and  folded  his  children  to  his  bosom,  who 
would  have  fallen  at  his  feet.  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  gave  liberty 
to  his  prisoner  without  ransom,  demanding  merely  a  promise  of 
his  friendship.  He  accompanied  the  youthful  couple  and  their 
father  to  Coyn,  where  their  nuptials  were  celebrated  with  great 
rejoicings.  When  the  festivities  were  over,  Don  Rodrigo  re 
turned  to  his  fortress  of  Allora. 

After  his  departure,  the  Alcayde  of  Coyn  addressed  his  chil 
dren  :  "  To  your  hands,"  said  he,  "  I  confide  the  disposition  of 
my  wealth.  One  of  the  first  things  I  charge  you,  is  not  to  for 
get  the  ransom  you  owe  to  the  Alcayde  of  Allora.  His  mag 
nanimity  you  can  never  repay,  but  you  can  prevent  it  from 
wronging  him  of  his  just  dues.  Give  him,  moreover,  your  entire 
friendship,  for  he  merits  it  fully,  though  of  a  different  faith." 

The  Abencerrage  thanked  him  for  his  proposition,  which  so 
truly  accorded  with  his  own  wishes.  He  took  a  large  sum  of 
gold,  and  inclosed  it  in  a  rich  coffer  ;  and,  on  his  own  part,  sent 
si«  beautiful  horses,  superbly  caparisoned ;  with  six  shields  and 
lances,  mounted  and  embossed  with  gold.  The  beautiful  Xarisa, 


THE  ABENCEREAGE.  383 


at  the  same  time,  wrote  a  letter  to  the  Alcayde,  filled  with  ex 
pressions  of  gratitude  and  friendship,  and  sent  him  a  box  of  fra 
grant  cypress  wood,  containing  linen,  of  the  finest  quality,  for  his 
person.  The  Alcayde  disposed  of  the  present  in  a  characteris 
tic  manner.  The  horses  and  armor  he  shared  among  the  cava 
liers  who  had  accompanied  him  on  the  night  of  the  skirmish. 
The  box  of  cypress  wood  and  its  contents  he  retained,  for  the 
sake  of  the  beautiful  Xarisa ;  and  sent  her,  by  the  hands  of  the 
messenger,  the  sum  of  gold  paid  as  a  ransom,  entreating  her  to 
receive  it  as  a  wedding  present.  This  courtesy  and  magnanimi 
ty  raised  the  character  of  the  Alcayde  Rodrigo  de  Narvaez  still 
higher  in  the  estimation  of  the  Moors,  who  extolled  him  as  a 
perfect  mirror  of  chivalric  virtue  ;  and  from  that  time  forward, 
there  was  a  continual  exchange  of  good  offices  between  them. 

Those  who  would  read  tho  foregoing  story  decked  out  with 
poetic  grace  in  the  pure  Castilian,  let  them  seek  it  in  the  Diana 
of  Montemayor. 


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G.   P.   PUTNAM  &  COMPANY'S  RECENT  PUBLICATIONS.       5 

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HlSTOET    OF    THE     NAVY    OF     THE     UNITED    STATES   OF     AMEBIOA. 

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Colonel  Gardner,  U.  S.  A.- 

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$250. 

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Map,  price  $1  25. 

Baron  Jomini — 

THE  ART  OF  WAE.  Translated  hy  Major  Winship.  12mo.  With 
Plans,  &c.  Cloth,  price  $1  25. 


6      G.   P.   PUTNAM  &  COMPANY'S   RECENT  PUBLICATIONS. 

Miss  Anne  Maury — 

MEMOIKS  OF  A  HUGUENOT  FAMILY.  With  Portraits.  12mo, 
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C.   H.   Putnam — 

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H.  W.  Warner— 

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E.  C.  Wines,  D.  D.- 

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School  and  College  Text-Books. 
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Washington  Irving — 

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8       G.    P.    PUTNAM  &  COMPANY'S   RECENT  PUBLICATIONS.       > 

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FLOE  A  OF  NOETH  AMEEIOA.    By  Asa   Gray  and  Jolm  Torrey. 

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Fourth      "  6th        "  "      2  50 

Fifth         "  7th        "  " 


G.    P.    PUTNAM  &  COMPANY'S  RECENT  PUBLICATIONS.       9 

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